I
They don’t speak
Don’t know their minds.
All they keep
Is to themselves
Their days of nothing
Filled with fluff.
She don’t know
What else to do
So she cook
She feed her man
And he happy
For a while
And she think
All is good.
Sad sad ladies
‘Round the world.
Won’t be me.

II
Unto no man can her respite
Unravel, shedding whispers
Against warmth of arms embrace.

She hangs with them in need
Of human interaction and simply
Cause it seems you don’t want her.