Sonnet 367

Born of false rib is woman, spiteful,
Mean, where often scornful jealousy abounds;
Mawkish and manipulative, guileful,
While teared success in victimhood is found;
Triumph denied — why sure by world oppressed!
Piqued to be judged by beauty’s breath alone,
Yet then to don hypocrisy’s finest dress
And paint a face to mock a happy clown.
Duplicity of heart to weave wild schemes
Where poison, lies and bitchery do dwell,
Then drifting off in princess coddled dreams
Where regal frowns can conjure living hell;
Yet as you read, you roll your eyes again,
As I in cursive scrive by truth your name.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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