"Take my bags to my room.
Don't look at me like that!
Oh, so you're the new maid?
So will you enlighten me?
Haven't the Lord blessed you
Dear, with two eyes to see?
Those bags are not mine!
Why are you wasting my time?
Having you here is a crime.
You look so plain
And lame.
Your face doesn't look sane!
I wonder if the ex-wife hired you.
Don't answer! It's pretty clear
That you aren't fit to work,
For My son, Alistair."
I force a tight smile,
And drag the bags across
The tile.
As I think for ways to kill
This wicked little brute.
That has put a pause
And is the cause
For the hole in my heart.
She orders me around
Till my feet is sore.
The insults me
About the uniform I wear.
She hates my hair
My face
My lips
My waist.
She took back my vacation
Now I can't get to see my mother.
And I have to watch
Alistair love another.
I see them through
Breakfast
Lunch.
Dinner
Brunch.
If I could get rid of her
I'd have quite a hunch.
When it struck day four
I got tired of the whore!
For she demands them to get Married.
Now this weight
My heart have to carry.
My body aches
As so
My soul.
For I watch the love of my life,
Another woman he has to hold.
YOU ARE READING
The Billionaire's Maid
Poetry~A love that'll never fade, though obstacles occur, for the billionaire's maid is quite obscure.~ Join Ruth in this romantic poetry, as she tries to make ends meet for her mother and climbs her way to take what's rightfully hers. Alistair. The man...
