I grow weary of not using the word cunt.
Hers is the hairy mess I want, precisely that cunt.
Don’t offer me a neatly trimmed or, God forbid,
shaved, depilated, waxed, exfoliated cunt.
I disavow the ones still posing as virgins,
won’t suffer lightly those ever-prepubescent cunts.
Nor even wyfe or witch, reeking of myth, burned
for the crime of possessing her human cunt.
The one I need, the one I’m calling on now, is she
of the cuntiest-ways-of-knowing-herself cunt.
She, the alpha and omega, unshackled
by the chaos of the universe cunt.
She, the OG, motherfucking cunt come
to rain down fire on all our cuntishness.
