Age isn’t just a number,
But also the limit to be a mother,
Working Women on the street
are sheep, never asleep,
Afraid of knives
As they risk their lives.
They hide their strong legs, wary of wandering eyes,
Trying to avoid a midnight plight,
And promiscuous bite,
Prim and Proper
Yet Expected to be Party-hoppers,
Trimmed waistlines
That can practically poke an eye,
To keep with the trends,
Yet still maintain your own bend,
An unspoken promise to sacrifice for your family’s sake,
Yet still expected to fight despite the stakes,
Expectations Galore
That would leave anyone sore
They ring round your necks,
Like a merciless Hex,
Weighing down your invisible wings,
Barely able to break free
But sisters you’re more than that,
Just look around and see
You’re more than the shoes on your feet,
And the chains that make you creep,
It’s the color inside you,
The Red, blue, and green,
That society just can’t keep,
Be a Mother if you can desire,
Or not if it’s not your fire,
Don’t let your age waste you away,
When you have time there’s still a chance to
Get the High of your Life,
Don’t let societal ties,
Ruin your life,
Someday you’ll be able to walk on the road,
Without fear or fright,
Of that daunting bite
Of course, it isn’t a walk in the park,
However to leap,
You must be prepared to meet concrete.
Blood may be drawn as you scrape your ears,
But remember
Just listen to your heart
And be smart,
Let your wings spread,
As everyone down stare below awed
That you fled