Sonnet 367

Born of false rib is woman, spiteful,
Mean, where often scornful jealousy abounds;
Mawkish and manipulative, guileful,
Assured success in victim hood is found;
Triumph denied, there by the world oppressed,
Piqued to be judged by beauty’s breath alone,
Yet then to don hypocrisy’s finest dress
And paint a face that mocks the saddest clown.
Duplicity of heart to weave wild schemes
Where poison, lies and bitchery oft dwells,
Then to drift off in princess coddled dreams
Where regal frown can conjure living hell.
Though as you read, you roll your eyes again,
As I in cursive write your living name.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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