Dear Sir,

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Dear Sir,

I wish I had her voice,
Then I could emote these feeling clearly enough,
To capture both your attention and your interest.

I wish I had his flow,
That once if only once could I be worth your adoration?

I wish I had her newness,
Or is it haplessness,
Inexperience maybe?

But then I am become my insecurities,
Or are they yours?

What’s worse,
Bitchy or crazy?
Crazy or bitchy?
Jealous, Fucked up or defeated?

I wish I could see you,
When they aren’t watching.

Is there ever a moment when it isn’t your inclination to appear,
Interesting, intelligent, or superior?

Or is that all you are,
A facade of shit well handled?

Well, sir.
Dear sir.
Fuck you.

I  am naught in need of an idol to worship

Yes Sir,
Dear sir,
Keep your noose,
And your favor.

Blessed evening and Goodnight.

 

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About Michelle Toussaint

Michelle Toussaint is an Antiguan who has amassed an Associate Degree in Science Education as well as a Diploma in Forensic Science. As such, she Teaches Science in the classroom as well as at home, where she leads...er... co-leads The Tribe. A merry band comprising her Husband-The Chief, herself-The Priestess, and her three precocious children- the tribesmen. When she isn’t mothering, teaching, being a fangirl or feeding her chocolate addiction. She writes two blogs. Random_Michelle and Death By Expectations. View all posts by Michelle Toussaint

2 responses to “Dear Sir,

  • calensariel

    I wish I could see you,
    When they aren’t watching.

    Is there ever a moment when it isn’t your inclination to appear,
    Interesting, intelligent, or superior?

    Or is that all you are,
    A facade of shit well handled?

    OML! How many times have I thought this about someone? Usually someone I’m TOTALLY jealous of! You nailed it, girlfriend. And you won because you refuse to play the game. Proud of you! 😉

    Like

  • janebasilblog

    A facade of shit well handled? That’s a brilliant phrase, which instantly brought to mind an image of someone I know, followed by a few others.
    I love this poem, with its well-measured vitriol.
    I just tried to comment on Random Michelle, but couldn’t send it; there’s a bottle of beer over the send button. Also, your comment box stretches right across the page, disappearing underneath the image of the beer.

    Like

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