I could have used some honeyed words, some chat-up line, some coaxing voice;
I could have promised stardom, glory, fame –
But force, I’ve found, works faster.
Sisters, you both look the same;
There’s hardly difference in your name;
So tell me, really, where’s the blame?
My role is lord and master.
Was I not fair? Did I not warn you, “Don’t resist me!”? Sister, I insisted.
But would you listen? No, you cried and screamed;
You threatened and you whined.
So, like a monster needing slain,
I sliced right through your lingual vein.
Since then, I’ve not heard you complain.
Not all men are so kind.That should have been the story’s end; her cancelled lines, removed off stage,
But women weave and fabricate their hurt,
Their tales of accusation:
That I, me too, should be abhorred:
That act should win her an award;
Her needle mightier than my sword.
Such sly communication.They’ve had their say and stitched me up, depicted me the villain of the piece.
Yet villains often win – that’s hard to swallow,
The status quo resumed.
I’m still the king, the throne’s mine still;
Tereus – one, the sisters – nil;
The stage is mine alone until
The Sun itself’s consumed.