Sweetie
How I hate
to be called "sweetie".
he called me that
only because
he didn't know me.
The pathic shock
when he first noticed
the daggers in my eyes,
the poison in my pen,
that were there all along.
I am not
the personification
of sweetness and light.
though I can be kind
I am not kindness.
Those who find
to be sweet
have only been
around when my
claws are sheathed.
I get tired
of that game
those who play me
recoil from my
bitter "new" revenges.
The sweet get stepped on.
Woe to the meek and mild.
I'm not that good an actress
to play the angel-martyr full time.
beware
I say again beware.
Bees make honey
but still sting.
And so do I.
-srw
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