It’s not that you’re plain.
There’s more to life than looks,
and they fade soon enough anyway.
It isn’t your dimness I disdain.
Not everyone is into reading books,
and you can function fine day to day.
Your pettiness does cause some pain,
but you grew up amongst liars and crooks,
it’s in your blood, your natural way.
The one thing that shatters my brain
is your shrill voice that finds and hooks
under my nerves till I tremble and sway.
A termagant that none can contain,
who shrieks and screeches and squeals and pukes
bad grammar and fake words and ideas that don’t stay.
As long as possible I shall remain
hidden from such harpies and shrews, in crannies and nooks,
in blissful silence until my dying day.