Your Just Desserts

I was very angry with someone and had to either hit her or write a poem. I chose the latter.

You,
Nullipara,
condescend to step
right in and
rule the rest who weren't blessed
with flawlessness like yours.

Primal donna, know-it-all, you step
with careless certainty and
crush
(with flame-red, dyed-to-match pumps)
insects, imperfect mothers, forsaken dreams.

And so, I feel a surge of mirth escape
from wiser lips
as I turn
my back to you, unshattered
by your fall.