She was funny, I’ll give her that.
She made me laugh until my belly hurt.
Then she made me cry until my heart would burst.
Rinse, repeat, until I was beat.
She was biting, witty, smart.
I dished her out uncontrolled like it was a buffet,
Offering her to friends and foes alike.
She was mine to do as I pleased,
To her, I was Master, even when she was displeased.
Like a sudden splash of cold water on a harmattan morning,
I came to find that others found her alluring.
Alas, I wasn’t her only Master,
A multitude had mastery of her.
But I liked her best when I controlled her bites.
Love bites they were, when I was in charge;
Painful bites when I was not.
It soon became a battle of the Masters.
She was a weapon;
With her, they pierced one through another,
As they fought to prove who knew her best.
An unfaithful one, she was,
As disloyal as they came.
She was content to dance with whoever held her hand,
And then change partners when someone else called her name right.
I call her cheat and liar,
Saying one thing and meaning the other.
Who is she, you ask?
A cheat, a liar, a beauty without true Master – Sarcasm.
