The stage it smells, tells
Hell’s bells, miss-spells, knocks me on my knees
It didn’t hurt, flirt, blood squirt, stuffed shirt, hang me on a tree
After I count down three rounds, in Hell I’ll be in good company
Hell’s bells, miss-spells, knocks me on my knees
It didn’t hurt, flirt, blood squirt, stuffed shirt, hang me on a tree
After I count down three rounds, in Hell I’ll be in good company
Thinking about the phrase, “Have some self respect!”.
What a strange direction/request to make to someone because what does that even mean? As a woman with her tits out on the internet, I hear this a lot. It usually means, “You’re an attention whore and I am intimidated by your moxxy!” Well, duh. That’s what the internet is all about: anonymous attention-whore mongering. And what is wrong with that?
How you respect yourself is your business, how I respect myself is mine, but the assumption that self respect looks or presents a certain way, is absolute bullshit. It never comes from a place of concern, and it is always 100% unsolicited. It’s a throw-away comment that will never get a response from me because if that’s how you think the world works, I don’t want to talk to you.
Dead love couldn’t go no further
Proud of, and disgusted by her
Push, shove, a little bruised and battered
Oh Lord, I ain’t coming home with you
Proud of, and disgusted by her
Push, shove, a little bruised and battered
Oh Lord, I ain’t coming home with you
This post is part of Every Damn Day in June, hosted by the incomparable, Molly Moore. All month long I’m thinking out loud about life, love, sex, and kink. Won’t you join me?Click the badge to read the other bloggers writing every damn day this month!
