Love (-Hate) Letter to My Hellion Who Was

N'er do well 

the tartlettes, not the Belles

of dubious occupations, but

hearts leadened with goodness,

  no, we address 

your unrepentant 

predecessors, perpetually crimson

painted around a gum-popping leer

no gratitude to be displaced or

guilt-ridden conscience will be 

assuaged, mama made sure, sugarcakes,

your vices were indulged to 

the max, and daddy spared no expense

that your petty dreams be oohed and ahhed

the craven and the crones 

seem to like this myth perpetuated

a pack a day nicely sandwiched between

your bratty insults coated in praise and kisses

blown along with the stale smoke

no one is impressed for too

long, seeing the inky mascara a hook

upon your deathly cheek, no one 

is smitten too entirely, minx tangled 

in little girl lost barbed by 

the tough girl exterior

no one

 we, the spurned,

delude ourselves

daily

    who is looking into

      those hellcat eyes

        and sinking deep

        within your 

         slinking 

            lies today?

**dedicated to crass, no-class A.N.s of the world we'd love to hate but unfortunately cannot. Not quite yet, at least.