It is a quarter after my last break
A hot minute since; a second for a breath to take
A whisper of disapproval for my lack of drive
A shout of shame for my disability to thrive
My lack of vigor, my failure to please
Aroused indignation; caused their niceties to cease
At ease; deemed unproductive, ill-mannered, disrespectful, distracted
Walking a thin line of failure and favours become retracted, extracted
From thoughts and headlines, banished for wanting, needing
Space to care for my mind, to fix old wounds excessively bleeding
Where is my encore? My standing ovation
My “go on girl” for my arresting confrontation
Where are my well-earned ‘Okays’?
And my get-well bouquets
My paid ‘vacays’, weekend get-aways
Tap on the shoulder, “hey we all need lazy days!”
Where is my room? My room for me
For me alone with walls, walls to be
To be myself, myself and I
I refuse to sugarcoat, to tell a lie
A lie about success
Success that is not; but only a mess
Listen to my words, words with chords
Chords of exhaustion not to be thrown to hordes
Hordes of reporters and distributors of rumors
Who are driven by my anxiety; to them it humors
My no is my no, it is the very strength of my health
My yes is my choice, my investment for wealth
My motivation shrivels in awe at your deficiency
your lack of empathy, your cruelty for false efficiency
Overworked overtime does not qualify as supreme and justify being called queen
Burnt out and spent only makes me mean
Crowned because I am clad in stilettos and Prada
But a woman frustrated has nothing but nada
From my point of view, tired eyes and sleepless nights
Are goals to be pursued to walk in fame before flashing lights
They are dreams to be fulfilled, to be lived, to win the race
The trick to ride this lane is to never slow the pace
To be clogged by chores, submerged by appointments
Stirred by headaches and a cycle of disappointments
Pressured by demands and the “working woman trend”
Learning new skills, playing by the rules I cannot comprehend
To earn a place, a name? Says who? To pretend to love what I do?
To draw lines is an abomination, a disgrace and a shame too?
What a price to pay to say what I need
What a cost to endure to be able to breathe
What I long for is for you to see my life
As a treasure to behold; to love as a wife
As a baby to nourish not threatened with a knife
As a target for your counsel surely not your strife