Call Me a Bitch

I know you really want to call me a bitch,
A slut, a whore, a cunt or maybe a monster,
Because I’m the descendant of an unburnt witch.  

When you're scared the world is going to switch,
From a patriarchal to a terrifying matriarchal order,
I know you really want to call me a bitch.

While I try to explain how between you and me is no ridge,
You think keep questioning whom all am I trying to conquer,
Because I’m the descendant of an unburnt witch.  

When I point out your misogyny to you without a twitch,
And you respond by saying that my skirt should be longer,
I know you really want to call me a bitch.

You fantasize of a mountain of dead babies in a ditch,
As the group understanding pro-choice grows larger,
Because I’m the descendant of an unburnt witch.  

When you widen the gaps I'm trying so hard to bridge,
As I shoot through glass ceilings that keep getting higher,
I know you really want to call me a bitch,
Because I’m the descendant of an unburnt witch.