It’s funny

It’s funny,
I have a vagina
but you’re the cunt.

Lies pour from you
like carbon dioxide.
With every exhale
you spew filth,
exhausting mistruths,
and calculated righteous indignation.
Ha.
That’s a lie.
I know you can’t feel anything.
Congratulations, you’re impressively incapable.

You dish out pain
calling it “justice on a plate of empathy”
with a side of “collaboration.”
I hate to tell you this
actually, I don’t
but that’s your ego
on a glass tray of fragility,
with a side of toxic masculinity
and a dash of control.
Fucking bitter, isn’t it?

Careful now,
your insecurity is peeking out
from under that hat of delusion.

You keep trying
to show the world a calm, confident face.
So focused on a front.
The front.
Your front.
But
it’s the asshole that’s showing.

Have I told you lately
how much you disgust me?
No?
Oh, right.
You’re not worth my breath
and I have zero fucks to give.

Irony can be so sweet.

Wouldn’t it be delicious
if your attempts at public shame
evolved to propulsion
of my public fame?
Even so,
you’d still be a cunt.

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