A Woman’s Woman – A Poem

Standard

A woman’s woman. That’s not to say
She doesn’t have men calling day after day.
She’s everything a woman could ever hope to be.
I hope and I hope but she’s nothing like me.
She’s alluring and witty, perfect and proud;
She’s never afraid to imagine out loud.
I’m unnoticed and sober, flawed and afraid;
I’ve never once dared to abandon my charade.
She’s the creativity, I’m the grammar, together we are the writing.
Beauty all round when we find a way of uniting.
But I want to be her, and how ironic, she wants to be me.
We’ve found common ground: our absurd jealousy.
Pointlessly she is mine and I am her anagram.
A paradox. A compliment. We are. I am.

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