The Moaning Lesser

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I always hated the inscrutable bitch

I never fell for her "mystic" charm

To me, she's a painted, simpering witch

With a smile more frozen than warm


Guess I'm not alone in needing  analysis

She too has been probed and prodded it's said

Science says that's the smile of a misanthropist

It becomes a frown once you turn your head


Men have so many mental frailties

One of which is fawning over the inaccessible

Like human-hamsters in Dante's Divine Comedy

Endlessly treadmilling the last circle of Hell


The following example of this fault takes the cake

For illustrating men's eternal stupidity

Worshiping a harlot for centuries on the make

Meanwhile ignoring the wonder that is me


And they are forever forgiving her ugly history

She's been bedroomed with emperors and kings

Thieves and practitioners of forgery

My soul bears no such ineradicable stains


And she's woefully deficient in femininity 

Form-wise she appears flat as a board

Nary a curve from beneath chin to infinity

Meanwhile, my lush contours are ignored


She never lacks for adoring company 

Men even pay to stand in line to view her

Why do they waste on her such idolatry?

With a Stormy Daniels clone right here


Perhaps the single greatest conundrum

Is why her portrait gets such veneration

While my boudoir pics on EasyMeat.com

Attract little to no masculine attention


Six times I've physically assaulted her

Employing acids, stones, and paints

I always felt justified in vandalizing the cur

But her survival makes me doubt the saints


Sadly, it may be that I've actually been bested

By a refugee from the land of pizza

One whose innards were once found infested

What's so great about the Mona Lisa?










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