We regret ever making you feel tall,
Letting you borrow pride that wasn't yours at all.
A man who adores the sight of other women bare,
Yet demands respect for the ones you claim to care.
So, we crossed a line, you say, by bringing up your kin,
But where was that line when you judged with a grin?
When you shamed our choices, our dress, our skin,
Where was your respect then, beneath your hidden sin?
You undress women with the filth in your gaze,
And call it "just thoughts," a harmless phase.
But if we raise our voice, unleash our rage,
Suddenly, we are the ones who crossed the stage.
Funny, how your line appears and fades,
Drawn in your favour, in twisted charades.
But our anger is real, unfiltered, untamed,
And we won’t be the ones to stand here ashamed.
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