Villainous,
harlot, whore, slut, liar.
The words fall freely from your chapped lips.
Who am I?
Who am I to deny
your slanderous words of spiteful lies?
There are worse
things I could do, then go
with a boy or two. Live my life as
well-to-do.
Tell me goodie-two-shoes,
does your public morality hide
your sinful
crimes behind closed, locked doors?
I'd rather be honest than ashamed.
I, prideful,
will not hide my desire.
Call me names, taunt me, wash your hands like
Pilate did.
For there are worse things I
could do, like crying in front of you.