There things that only women do
Some men boast of what they can do
Do not laugh at what I have to say
How would you describe a normal day?
Let us divide the chores in the household
See what portion you may claim to hold
Who does the cleaning and sweeping?
Who does the cooking and washing?
Lest, on menial things, the master’s time is wasted
For such, the children’s usefulness is tested
Is it the woman who runs the house?
While the man claims to own the house
Is it the man who deceives the woman?

I find the moments of my life
invariably filled with strife
are caused by those who are hell-bent
on making others malcontent.

They lay their futile helpless rage
on those they think they can enrage,
and thus drain all of their own ire
by fueling others' angry fire.

Once I would have let them do this,
make me so intensely furious
that I would inevitably snap,
and make them eat their own damn crap,

If I never took the opportunity - test
I'll say what's truly in my heart'
plus I've a mind to say it, now.

Ink shall be my vehicle
lined paper my only grid.
Hopefully, the meaning won't be lost
in the mouthing of the words.

These utensils are both primitive, and vague at best;
so lean ever closer so as to hear me better,
and try to read my words as I have carefully scattered them.

Forgive me my arrogance in assuming
what I have to say is important,
these are but my own personal feelings;

You scribbled in bits and pieces
As parchments and on the scrolls
Of a heart so full of love
In this kind of affection
Some say, love is blind
So you stomached everything
All in the name of love

The innocent begs the guilty
For forgiveness from what I know not
I see disappointments, unrealized hopes
Tucked away in dreams of nothingness
While you danced with exhilaration
To the savage slavery flute of the piper