I do not yet possess ironic wit

I do not yet possess ironic wit
Yet often I amuse the readers’ ears
Just as my cat once bit me as I sat
Confessing sins, my scruples and my fears.

When one   man left me as I was so bright
Yet others told me  I was  dim and vain
The irony here affects my  once sweet nights
We see in others what we most disdain

Would you tell a lover they were dumb?
Would you tell a lover they smelled queer?
Would you tell a lover you  hate  men?
Would you tell  one they seem insincere?

We see in others sin which dwells in us.
Perpetuating  malice  as  we boss.