If a building can be called with just two pillars,
Regardless of how aged they’d become,
What difference of mismatched pillars
Doesn’t allow me to stand as tall?
She’s the mother of the classroom,
Or as he’d call it – the mother of all—yeah…
While his big mouth grated as much as his fingers,
Never letting her stiff figure be straight as a broom.
No, they weren’t dating—he’d be dead at that point,
And besides, no married couple would include me in
A threesome to fix the bedroom—at least, I
Hope he doesn’t consider it later when he’s joint.
The building is more like a picket fence
With vines etched all around
Except it’d be greater if grapes
Even a dud could be found.
It has holes—at least, to him
It would always be a blast,
Just not for us two ladies,
Whom his tendencies cannot look past.
We weren’t dating either, I’d sooner
Castrate him and show my balls,
We just happened to be called smart,
Despite our cynical mocking calls.
We lived in our own play,
Thankfully he wasn’t Romeo,
More of a Hamlet kind of piece,
With him the monologue-ing fool.
Lopsided, that’s the word,
I mean we were in IB,
You can’t expect happiness
And peace in what we see.
I’m not going to stop the bickering
That’s way long overdue,
So in a few years’ time, where are we going?
To Hell, most likely, how about you?