Mary Jane

I have been cheated on.
He shares me with her.
She is a pretty little girl.
She has pretty little outfits of purple and pink and green and she always smells clean.
He is gentle to her, with his touch and his lips.
He smiles when she’s sweet and he laughs when she’s rough.
If I hurt him, he lets me go; if she hurts him, he blames himself.

She’s very good at breaking the ice when he wants a new friend and in a matter of time he is sharing her with them but he would never share me.
He buys her lavish gifts of stained glass and painted ceramics.
He spends all his money on her and his pocket is empty for me.
I watch my diet while he shares all the sweets in the world with her.
(It must be a passionate way to make love.)
He tries to hide her from me, but I can smell her perfume in his hair and I can smell her scented gloss on his lips, and I know when his eyes are twinkling from something more than me.

When it is the three of us, he always picks her first and he’ll pick her again and again until she’s all worn out.
Some people may think she’s no good, she’s a poison, he should break it off, but others congratulate him for scoring such a beauty.
That smile she brings to his face and everyone else’s who breathes her in. I have always been second but he is my first.
I do not share him with her, though I think I should. If I want to fit in, if I want to be happy, if I want him to love me more.
She’ll never break his heart.