You're Just A Girl

Hey there. I’m Savanna, I’m 17 years old, and I’m a whore.

You heard right.

I am a whore.

What does that mean?

Well, being labeled a whore is the equivalent of calling someone a prostitute.

The last time I checked, most prostitutes have STD’s, wads of dirty money, and lots of guys.

Me?

I’ve been with one and one only.

I’m clean as a whistle.

The only money I earn is from my part time, minimum wage job that I work my ass off for.

Speaking of my rear end:

The girls who never knew their potential, who feared being labeled and going against the norm, who never accepted themselves…

labeled me because my hind quarters and my hips made them green with envy.

big ass = hip sway = whore = prostitute?

Now to me, accepting my sexuality and being punished for it doesn’t make much sense.

Confidence is key and that key can take you farther than anyone can bring you down.

I do not care about your labels anymore.

I am a woman because I know my worth.

I am sexy because I accept who I am.

I am beautiful because I believe I am, inside and out.

I am not a whore.

But what are you?

I could call you a slut for preaching on your soap box about the sins I’ve committed.

All the while you go home and add conquest to conquest on your list that no longer fits on your fingers and toes.

What’s with the hypocritical views?

There isn’t anything wrong with who I am and in all honesty,

there isn’t anything wrong with your lifestyle either.

You, my dear, are promiscuous.

And although you don’t accept yourself due to society’s impossible standards and fear of being labeled as a whore like you labeled me,

you will be beautiful one day.

You are not a slut.

You are not a whore.

You’re a girl.

The difference between beauty and the latter,

is the confidence it takes to accept yourself.

And you might wish to obtain it, but wishing will only get you so far.

You can choose not to listen to my words and you may label me a prostitute if that will soothe your self-hatred even if it’s only for a minute.

But me?

My hips will continue to sway. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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