I will not publish this poem under my own name.
Because I cannot stand being criticized by my parents.
I will not, however, keep this to myself.
I will not admit I sometimes enjoy catcalls
Because being a woman is tough and draining on my self esteem.
I will not pretend I don’t sometimes smile when I hear a stranger call me
I will not stop dancing sexually or seductively and
I will not stop wearing clothing that’s a bit too revealing
Because if a Hollywood celebrity can do it, then so can I.
I will not pretend I hate Freud.
Because I actually love the man.
I will not become a hysteric
And repress my sexual appetite
And my sexual jokes and innuendo
In fear that it is not lady like and proper.
(Freud would actually most likely approve of it.)
I will not stop dating my boyfriend just because my parents want me to.
I will date who I want. I will marry who I want.
I will not get married in a traditional way.
I’m more than capable of walking my own damn self down the aisle.
I will not force my daughter to cook or clean
I would never force my son to do the same.
I will allow my daughter to chase her passions
To have her own dreams
To live fearlessly like her mother struggled to
So that she can one day say-
“I will publish this poem under my own name.”
If the woman does not exist,
Neither will this poem-
Whether it is written under a name
I will not.