Her…
Her story, and that of many others like her
Her.
She was the other woman,
she had come to terms
with the term,
but the term did not fit her.
Her.
The sole mention of that word
was like that sharp finger
pointing straight,
at her with blame, with judgment.
Her.
She after all had accepted
that it was not in her terms,
on her days, or
her happiness, or anything about her.
Her.
‘It is her’, said the voice that raised
when the light of day
uncovered her full face,
and showed the world it was her.
Her thoughts,
Her fears,
Her cursed love
Her fault.
But why, she wondered,
why was it
Her when it was
His secrets,
painting the picture of betrayal,
playing the song of the victim
and living a life of pretense?
Her rational mind,
and her impetuous heart,
like that of many others like
Her
would never know why
the blame was on
Her.
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