Believe it or not, this is how I look to Pablo
It leaves me perturbed
His friends think it’s a masterpiece
but, to me, it’s pathetic
Is this who I am?
When Pablo paints Marie-Therese
she is sunny and cheerful
But with me, they call me the weeping woman
I am the first to admit that I weep
There are many truths to weep about
Pablo abandons me for weeks at a time
to live with Marie-Therese
She is the mother of his daughter
while I cannot have a child
He claims he loves us equally
When we insisted that he choose
he said we should fight it out ourselves
I pulled her hair, I bit her
She clawed and scratched
But in the end nobody won
and Pablo sleeps with us both
I love Pablo the way a sunfish loves the water
But I weep when he is cruel
His temper is a boiling cauldron
He pushes me, slaps me
I never know what will set him off
I try to escape
but I always come back
He promises he will control his anger
We met last year at the Cafe des Deux Magots
I had gone there just to meet him
Pablo was 54, I was 28
He was famous, I was still new
So thrilling
And now, of course, I am his muse
He told me to abandon my photography career
To Pablo, photography is second-rate art
Even though I'd been recognized more and more
Now I am known only as Pablo’s mistress
And, yes, as the weeping woman 
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