sing, o hellish muse,

of the ****

who critiqued my novel

and called me a hack!

~

sing her death,

a death painful and slow.

sing of torment and suffering

equal to my suffering

~

i labored to bring this child

this novel

into the world

and so cruelly was it cast down

and spat upon

by one i called friend

~

friend

~

how she has soiled the word

with her cruel critique!

~

just because my novel

didn’t have heaving bosoms

and throbbing man-loins

doesn’t make it lesser than hers

~

rather, better

~

i do not pander to the lowly and base

i do not sully my art with appeals to the mbumes

I do not write harlequin romances

~

i am an artiste

and so i suffer and accept

my suffering

as the touch of the Muse

~

~

~

i accept and

endure.