Oh, it’s just a construct.

Bitch how did you know
his dream as well
since he was a little boy
is to walk down the aisle
and be married
some time before he’s thirty.
Bitch you must have that
world class empathy.

Some people are like
walking encyclopedias.
Some people are like
forces of their own literature.
Some people are like
kamikaze cosmopolitans.
I bet you know all the secrets.
Secrets to which even he is clueless.

I bet he eats bacon sandwiches,
you let him watch football.
and even let him adjust his balls,
as long as company isn’t over,
as long as kardashians aren’t on,
as long as he’s not dieting.

Bitch how do you really
always know what to do
before the poor bastard even knows
anything that has happened to him.
“I’m the king of this castle,”
he mutters when you shut the door.
He thinks about chicken wings.
His eyes fix on a broom in the corner.
The significance of this escapes him.
You left for the day yet forgot to bring it.

Bitch you are amazing.
I think back to the good old days,
wherein you’re a convicted witch
nine times out of ten.
This is a weight off my shoulders
just in knowing you’re out there.

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