I rather chew cyanide!

Relationships, as if they'd been chewing cyanide.

At least that be quicker. Right? 

Shaken, not stirred cause' that's what the big tough men do, 

and as we know ladies: we live in a man's world. 

Cause' even if they where able to take a 9mm to their temple, 

the burst wouldn't hush the voices in their heads. 

Though for so many centuries we were declared insane on our bland desire to dictate sentences. 

Our skulls cracking, while shimmering too much light, resulting in a noose around the neck. 

Or if we fought for our lands, yet heard angels echoes resound, we would most likely be burned! 

I hear tales, of sluts and whores, who are labeled like cattle ready for slaughter for the same reason a man is praised. 

A woman who kisses more than twice upon a night is shamed into hostile silence, 

while a man who can land "three hot-ties in his bed" in a mere 12 hours may spends his days in grace. 

Honestly, this may be the reason to why I prefer to stay in bed, 

spreading Nutella across the waistline without a single care. 

Shall I be Hannah or Belle?

Judged on the volume and shape of my ass: 

Is it cute enough for your liking, a magnificent globe for your sinful desires? 

Or my breasts, on their shape and size, specifically on the nipple color...

Groped by the eyes of hungry-ravaged beasts who pass it off by saying they fell for me, due to the color of my eyes. 

Is that so then? Can you define their texture, their glimmer, or can you just pass them off for brown?

Are my thighs too thick for you're liking? Do you prefer matchsticks of starvation to voluminous curves? 

I understand, hourglass figure or not you prefer women who suffer by the insecurity of their own body...

But then, if desired is the Virgin saint, why joke and tear at their cardigans?

Butchering her naive heart until it pumps pomegranate pulp of the hopeless, a perfect bargain! 

Yet, to the experience (the one you call a dominatrix) you cuss and declare the devil's spawn! 

"Fucking, Fuck, Shut the fuck up, Keep the fuck still" are the curses they listen until the shattered dawn. 

So, because I happened to be born to be a woman I must chew that cyanide with true cherishing. 

For I shall be declared mad and unstable just for the fact that I have a functioning melon of questioning. 

Shamed if I dare grace my lips twice, on two in a night. 

Insecurities milked to the fair justice of a man's erection. 

Then categorized as either the butchered saint or the beaten whore. 

It's a man's world after all. 

And what can I say?

I rather chew cyanide!