Sonnet 367

Born of false rib is woman, spiteful,
Mean, where often scornful jealousy abounds;
Mawkish and manipulative, guileful,
Where teared success in victim hood 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 the saddest 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 your living name.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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