becky with the good hair

doesn't wear prada

parading her peacock self about

like the devil incarnate.

out on the hunt for the blood

of men she'll never give her love to

but they, the deceived

by she, the jezebel,

a delilah if you will.

chock-full of ulterior motives

to ensure the conceited triumph

of her selfish self.

harnessing the carnal allure

of muliebrity to whip

weak men into compliance.

crumbling at her feet,

dirtying their hands

whilst she claims all the credit

for their concupiscent toil.

how she would smile in my face,

stab me in the back

and sometimes even

look me dead in the eye,

self-absorbed as ever,

engrossed in the

masturbatory indulgence

of her ego.

betraying a so-called friend,

much to the gaze of onlookers

who bite their tongues

in her presence.

and make pretend to render

her comportment acceptable,

inconspicuous even.

knowing how she wrongs me.

flashing her gnashers of malevolence

taunting me

as she smiles and waves,

all the while knowing

my heart was breaking .

a real bitch if I ever did see one,

an absolute cunt if you will.

the devil I know wears pandora.

and the charms adorned

pon her wrist are

just as tacky as she will

always be.

some will say

it's not that deep,

but she knew better.

better still,

she knew it mattered