She is the other woman. The goddess he tripped over.
She is the one my man fantasizes and dreams of as he talks
About her in his sleep, and calls it a slip-of the tongue and the pain,
Cuts inside as though I’ve been stung by a swarm of bees.
The other woman is his shield, when he is from a battle field with me.
He finds comfort in her, so she becomes his confidant
She does know I exist but finds it hard to resist his demeanor
She has become proud of how my man lusts and drools at her and from first
I am last in his memories (that’s if I even exist); soon I’ll be his past
The other woman prides herself at the nasty sexual pleasure she offers my man and how long he lasts,
Thus merrily pledges to damp me and marry her
While back home sex is a commemoration perhaps pouring libation to honor our ancestry
My man dreads every single minute he sleeps beside me and counts the hours before he meets her
My man detests my sense of style, the way my tummy hangs and the ugliness of my stretch marks
He finds faults in all my doings and is always provoking fights from slightest of mistakes
The other woman is quite a beauty and I can’t compete with for my greatest fear is now clear-
I am losing. But a queen without her king is still a queen, while a concubine without her king is a homeless harlot
I hate to admit that my happiness depends on her and whatever she decides
The other woman howls insults at me when I call my husband’s phone
For having kept my man-now her man in a pool of misery
She throws words almost like she’d be rehearsing on them for a day she will get caught
Someday he’ll fulfill his promise; and they’ll say their vows but her old position,
Will be open right? Brace yourselves contestants.
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