Poor Pitiful ThingA Poem by Geralyn MillerShe is the Princess of the Pity Party, the Queen of cheesy whine; Her mantra is "It's not fair." usually followed by "Everybody's ALWAYS mean to me." She's fifty five years old, no hope of growing up. She lives in her "Me" world, never sees the rest of us.
Today I laughed at her, and I am not even sorry. She came banging on the door, without calling first, pushed past me, knocking one of my crutches out from under me. I never said a word, just went and sat in my chair, and back to trying to figure out how to brush my hair out with only one hand.
She babbled on and on, the usual drivel, her boss is so mean, he wants her at work on time. Her landlord hates her, he wants the rent when it is due. (She thinks they are unreasonable.) Then she actually said "Poor pitiful me, the world is so cruel to me, what am I to do.?"
I confess, I started laughing and I couldn't stop.
So now she has declared me a "sadistic evil b***h" and will never call me again.
And I'm still not sorry. © 2011 Geralyn MillerReviews
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4 Reviews Added on January 20, 2011 Last Updated on January 20, 2011 AuthorGeralyn MillerPhoenix, AZAboutI was born in the year of the Dragon, and am prone to roaring for amusement's sake. I have been writing poetry since I was eight. That's right, fifty years of poetry, all written in longhand. In ad.. more..Writing
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