Masquerade

She walks so proud, throwing her hips,

making you believe at the taste of her lips.

 

At night she’s rumpled, crumpled into a bubble

filled with trouble

with no blessed oil.

 

Every morning she greets the world with her spine, iron clad

working for and against the bad.

 

She has all the power of Commander-in-Chief,

many oppose her, it’s no matter because she’s serving the beef!

 

There’s nothing she can’t have

because she’s just that bad.

 

She has it all in her tiny, empty, cold apartment

chanting the same jargon:

it’s handled.”

But who’s going to handle her?

©privatethoughtsmadepublic

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