The Patron Saint of Victims Everywhere

I stamp my feet,
This is not fair
For I am the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

Self-appointed, self-anointed.
But never, never effaced
I offer superficial harmony
In a chaotic world and this is why
I am universally embraced

Oh, come all adore me
For I am the one you have chosen
To stamp your identities upon
I am womanly, you see
The epitome of purity and passivity

But, in time, my foot soldiers fade away
Their attention strays, it wanders elsewhere
While I look for a way to remind you
That I am still the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

Adoration dissipates and this unlit stage
Is a lonely place. I expect empathy
But I cannot reciprocate
For I do not want others to share
My status as the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

The auditorium is deserted now
And I am devoid of admirers
I call out, into the darkness
I stamp my feet. This isn’t fair
Am I no longer the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere?

Stepfather

I am merely an object moving through space
Out of place and lacking in grace and you begin
With a disclaimer. You tell me I am essential
But incomplete. You desecrate my disordered dreams
‘Your mother is gone. She died in the night’
No one cried and then the great divide arrived
You only die once, after all. You move in on me
You disagree with my methodology. You disapprove
Of my every move. My words are unheard and undeterred
You detach me from all context and you begin,
Slowly and deliberately, to deconstruct me.

Naomi

It is over
She is finished
She has gone, gone, gone
And now she is one
We pour scorn upon
Once we adored her
Now we abhor her
There is nothing left
When beauty fades
She is degenerating
We are regenerating
We tore off her disguise
And, like vultures,
We gorge on her demise.