The Poor Book Writer Poem by Debora Soramaki

You are ugly, you are nothing
He often said to me
But little did he know
I was on a shopping spree
For further information
Pertaining to his life,
I was out to find pure justice
Even tho I was his wife.
He carried on his living as
Tho he were a single man.
When he thought I wasn't looking
I was carrying out my plan.
I wrote down everything
That didn't seem quite right,
Especially those long episodes
That happened in the night.
Oh, I may be dumb and stupid
But soon the world shall see
That the one who was butt ugly
Wrote a murder mystery.