A bloody cur they labeled me
For clinging to the old
But I was born to be a queen
My brother loathed my hold
A woman cannot wear a crown
She's mad and rash and foul
For burning wretches at the stake
She smiles as they howl
But what is wrong with iron fists
With reigning like the men
For wanting to be known as fierce
For wielding wit and pen
I wonder what they'd say of me
If I was just a man
Would they hate me all the same
Or would they be my clan
My father was a gruesome thug
Known for killing wives
But he's remembered rather fond
Despite their ruined lives
I guess that is the secret rub
You have to be a boy
Or else they'll always think of you
Like you're a flitty toy
A wicked woman I was known
But I was just a girl
And from the grave I raise my voice
My banner I unfurl
Slander me like all the rest
Say my name three times
I will haunt you from the dark
With poetry that rhymes
And as I sneer you'll start to fret
That all those tales were true
That I was what they said of me
That maybe I'm like you
YOU ARE READING
Wicked Women
PoetryWicked Women is a collection of poems written from the eyes of history's most maligned and hated women. This collection explores what motivated these "evil" women to commit murders, robberies, and other infamous crimes and offers a glimpse beyond th...
