Oh, here he comes, suit and tie,
The polished guy with a “deal-breaker” cry.
Slept around like it’s no big feat,
But expects clean hands at every meeting.
A single touch and he felt shame,
Yet I’ve fought monsters who had no name.
He calls me “psycho,” and “a nutjob” too,
While I offered warmth—meals he never knew.
This is the man who’d drown in gin,
Just for a “service” to dive right in.
And yet he pities me? He dares to say—
“I’m the failure, just in his way.”
Behind that polished, practised grin,
He hides, hoping no one sees the spin.
He waves his girl, all pomp and pride,
Compared to my body, tore my side.
But a lightsaber’s what he offered me—
A “gift” to soothe my misery.
So here’s my wish, you condescending fool:
May the world see through your shallow rule.
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