acceptance

I’m not secondary.
I’m further, aim higher.
Cross bow sanctity, your arrows lack desire.
I’m an education:
wasted on your too fragile dishonesty.
I’m an exclusive club,
and you’re on the verge of expiry.
A diversified purge,
from an apron string purse,
You’re a curse too much to bear,
for an angel to hurt.
Minding the buttons,
on your neatly ironed shirt,
Perfume and lipstick,
on a collar ribbed with dirt.