I hate the fucking fairy tales and what they’ve done and how they’ve separated you from me and me from you and me from me and you from you. Glamorous poverty, fashionable drama. I fucking hate it. Blechhhh

But such is life, no?

There is only 1 best hand to play

and you won’t know until it’s done.

You’re a hard woman to love my dear

But that’s what makes it fun.

If I could put all the fury

and condemnation of your choices

into a box, it would explode

in a cacophony of voices

Crazy, Bitchy, Inconsistent

and bitter to the core

Refusing, demanding and persistent

but only as a chore.

You’re a hard woman to love my dear

You’re a hard woman to love

You think you own it, but you don’t

You think you have a say

by virtue of you being here

you think you get your way

You don’t see that your way’s not gotten

it’s made and forged and crafted

That doesn’t matter at all to you

You’d rather take than have what’s gifted.

Oh you’re a hard woman to love, my dear

and now I see, in the face of death,

you’ll be a hard woman to kill my dear

The Reaper, left bereft.

And the thing I know about this

it’s very small indeed,

It’s got nothing to do with me

And in that sense I am freed.

I’m free to love you and your hardness

it’s yours and yours alone

and for many years and all my life

I pretended that I’ve known.

I’ve pretended I’ve known better

I’ve pretended I’ve known the way

and now I see, without a doubt

I’ve been clouding up my day.

You’re a hard woman to love my dear

You’re everything I think and more

You’re as difficult as I say you are

You’re as dangerous as war.

But now, in the softening hours

now, around the back

I’ll sit a moment with myself

And be in awe of your attack.

Because attacking is not your nature

And bitterness is not your rhyme

You’re a hard woman to love, my dear

And the privilege is all mine!