I went to the hardware store this morning and it got me thinking about men and poetry.  Why do women always think they have the answers and to tell us when to be romantic and when to not be?  Shakespeare had it right.  My home, my siding, my way I want the garage.  I am so sick of all the BS and I am a man of God and keep this blog positive.

I wrote a poem about women.  It is from my perspective and it does not mean everything, but it is about a woman I know.

You pull our shades down,
then tell me to shut the door: We need to talk.What? I say
You say no, it is who.
And now I have to sit here with crumbs on my face from the breakfast burrito that you said you made from scratch.

And The Devil Dances his two-step like a deep throat gargoyle,
who is hanging from our abode and whispers secrets to the blinking stars of night
I hate you
I hate you
I love you
I love you
You make me sick.
Love me.

Where are the angels twinkling in your eyes that played a harp with love?
Where are your fancy shoes?
Where did you put my goddamn slippers?

I am ready to go home now.
Leave me alone.
Cut me some slack.
Pick up the margarine.
I like margarine.

I ended my poem like that because I was thinking of my ex-wife from years ago and how I started this blog with the intent to find a real girlfriend. I am so tired of women that lie. I am not perfect, but like I have stated in previous times, I am a God-fearing man who tries his best. I will share more here about my life and my shop, my job and how I feel. I am going for a drive now to clear my head.

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