My soldier’s at attention when I’m entering your forts,
So I can sense dissension when perusing your retorts.
You all may stand together when you think you stand as one,
But I divide your tether when selecting one for fun.
 
It’s funny how each story is aligned in tone and theme,
But when your hated quarry is your own recurring dream
It damages the stricture of the man you paint an imp,
And paints a different picture when you posture, preen and primp

Before you go to see him, as the subject of your scorn,
When men just want to be him, and to him you’re only porn.
To him, it’s not romantic; it’s a means to make an end,
An end that makes you frantic when you’re venting to a friend.
 
So don’t be so indignant when you illustrate the scene
And kinship turns malignant when her eyes are burning green.
You can’t ignore that feeling when you find you weren’t alone,
That someone else was kneeling, or reclined, or lying prone
 
Together with the bastard who had shattered all your hearts,
Who studied well and mastered how to separate the parts,
Then leaves you all enamored of the rogue you hate en masse,
Who sized you up and hammered you in your collective ass.