I Am None Of These Women

I am none of these women,

My photo won’t be printed on a glossy magazine page,

I will not roll out of bed with perfect curls,

My breath does not always smell like cherries,

Nor are my lips light pink.


I do not have the patience of a saint,

I won’t seduce you to stay longer,

I will not throw a four-year-old temper tantrum…

If my new diet drink is making me moody.


My nails will not be painted chipless,

My cooking skills are not be compared with a sous-chef,

And I definitely will not wait on you hand and foot.


My waist will not resemble and apple core,

Neither my breasts as cantaloupes,

My temper will not be easily swayed with a gift,

I will not swoon over diamonds.

Spiders somewhat scare me.


But, I am the woman who cried often (daily)

You may buy me an emerald or an eggroll and my world is yours

Dandelions please me. Malls do not faze me. Animal abuse angers me.

I will hunch over a good book,

And stand proud of my accomplishments.

I will kiss you softly, and you will know you are loved.

I will be stressed and distracted, but I’m willing to be soothed.

Okay, I lied, spiders creep me out.

I will wriggle when you tickle me,

And cry when the pain is too much,

I will cry. And cry. And just when you hoped I’d smile, I’ll cry a little more.

But I will dance and not care.

I will not care a lot sometimes.

This is me, woman. Not women. 



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