objectification of women
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Women aren't property Until they are. Paraded down the street Beautiful and silent Forced to produce Without any question Stroke the male ego Protect their status as human
They gave me a nametag and a uniform I count coins and wonder "who will be hungry today?" Sausage-like fingers grip thick wads of bills and sticky cards I tap on the screen and say "seventeen dollars"
You propped your torso above the sweaty mat, resting on tense arms, arms rippling and sculpted and wrapped in serpentine tattoos I'd long stopped crunching my body into a pretzel
Look at me up and down as You lick your tainted hungry lips Does my meat not appeal to you? Does my pale skin not make your mouth salivate? As I put my body on display for you to
Hi! I’m a fan. Or should I say, I am a breathing sex toy, screaming ATM machine, teeny-bopper obsessive drama queen? I am nothing! What’s funny is talking about celebrity culture—