For the Bitch Who Stole My Husband

But that’s enough about me
This poem’s really about a he
Married were we
In fact May 7 would have made 21 years
But all of my tears can’t explain the wear
That man, my husband, placed on my soul
18 years old
a child bride
with so much love inside
to have and to hold
till death do us part
that was the vow I tried with my heart
to stick to somehow
until another lover came on the scene

She was light and white
Lifting him up
Kept him out all hours of the night
Had our children walking on eggshells when he came through the door
Oh yeah, together we produced four
three beautiful daughters and one handsome son
left behind with their mother to be raised in a one-parent household
while their father runs all around town chasing behind his white mistress

Eyes all bulged out looking insane
like an explosion in the brain would allow his pain
to drain, wither or sway
with each night away
from his family
his children four
walking on eggshells when he comes through the door

Using all our money his family’s resources
Just for another chance to get with that white she-devil
Like my bountiful brown beauty had been outgrown
Until I realized this had nothing to do with color
You see that mistress stroked his ego in ways
I’ll never know or understand
Made him feel like a king a new man
Without his doing anything but inhaling her essence
Always in her presence
Frequently and of course paying the price
No matter what it costs to feel nice
Even if the high only lasts a few seconds

Seconds is what we became my children and I
As my guy decided to choose between his mistress and me
The girls three
The boy one
Leaving yet another fatherless son
That was almost eight years ago
Minus some days
And even 12-step meetings can’t give me the words to say
not the peace nor the release I seek,
As I try to keep my children from hating their father
Wondering why their innocence, their intelligence wasn’t enough for him
I didn’t mean to get a “C” on my report card, Mom
And if he comes back I swear I’ll get “A’s” from now on

Although it’s wrong sometimes I wish he were gone
Dead not alive but in a grave
Then someone can say nice things over his body
Hey, they even said nice things about John Gotti
But until then I just heal
Write my poems and try to feel
Some compassion for a man what’s left of him the shell
Of the handsome prince I married who now looks like hell
Still running behind that white mistress that lethal one
Who came between three daughters a wife and a son

By now I’m sure you know her name
The one who masks over his pain
The one driving my man insane
He’ll never be the same because of his girl, his bitch
That Crack-Cocaine!

Myla Jones--2003