You view my anatomy as your devil; you can’t control how it makes you feel. You don’t like that I can be the one to crack you open. You don’t like that I am your kryptonite. You can’t handle my sensuality without bashing. You say I need to cover up. You say I need to show skin. You forget you have no say.
You’re here because of me. You exist because of the goddess between my legs. I birthed you and you try to murder me with hate. The very thing you crave most can kill you. My pussy is power and that scares you, but I won’t apologize for it.
You don’t like when I speak my mind; it’s your worst nightmare. You don’t like that I demand respect that should be given to me freely. You call me a bitch because I know what I want and you don’t. I am your biggest threat. You’re intimidated by my strength, intelligence, and compassion. You fear my independence because it makes you question your use and existence.
You spend your life devaluing me because you don’t understand that I am not your competition. You are at war with yourself; I am your team.