 The Other Woman
 She knows well enough
to respect me.
She knows better than
to ignore me.
I like her in her own right.
I tell myself we should be friends,
not just because it will be easier
but also because itâs
so rare to find
anyone who
gets me
and gets him too.
I could use more friends like her.
And I gather, so could she.
***
 Men are not just scraps of meat,
over which we
think we must fight,
only to hurt ourselves
in the process.
We do not need to fight
over this man.
We are not bitches,
but we can share
the bone
like sisters.
With a common agenda
there is much
we can do
together to further
our own needs.
So much energy
wasted either in subterfuge,
detection,
or intervention.
Better to get it out
and get on with it
than to
cower
in the shadow
of denial
or self-deception.
She knows
I saw him first,
and I know
she wonât be the last
to notice him.
She also knows
that when I
follow my nature,
there will be times I will be glad
she will be there for him,
allowing me to take my leave
when and as I choose
when the glove is on the other hand.
***
She is the perfect
Other Woman.
She knows
what it is like
to walk in my shoes
and what hurts
as well as what feels good
if she will just let it.
I understand her completely
because
I have been her
for him
when someone else was me,
and I wanted to be honest
and remain her friend,
but such was not to be.
***
And now,
as I prepare to take my leave
to explore,
to experience
something new
with someone new
I realize that once again
I am the Other Woman
just as much as she is me.
I want to have so much
in common with this
enlightened woman
who sees me as I am,
accepts me,
even encourages me
to help find pleasure
with this man
she loves so much,
I canât help
loving
her
for the way
that
she loves him.
If women
of uncommon
consciousness
found their friends
from among
their loversâ
paramours
they would never find themselves
lonely
or friendless
again.
I am the Other Woman
just as much as she is me.
astraltravler 