The Modern Woman

The woman I dreamed to be took flight.
She lived in a story that died overnight.
The woman of this story had beauty and grace.
She welcomed every guest with a smile on her face.
She coddled her children with patience and love.
She solved their disputes with the gentleness of a dove.
Her husband felt pride to call her “my wife”.
For she served him a four-course meal every night.
She pleasured his body in all different places.
And gave him head on a regular basis.
When not attending to family, she worked a full-time job.
Master of organization, multi-tasker galore.
The chauffeur to soccer, piano and art.
Model of composure behind the shopping cart.
Helper of homework, storyteller by night.
The smell of fresh laundry made her feel just right.
When the speakers of rational thought warned she would tire.
She told them, “Come on. You’re crazy. You’re a liar.”
The modern woman can take on it all.
There is never a project too big or too small.
At the ripe age of 40, the rational thinkers came again.
“Have you tired? Are you finished? How is your head?”
The modern woman couldn’t answer. She couldn’t hear what they said.
They found her on the floor, already dead.

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