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ax² + bx + c = woman²

put up your dukes is the face she wears
along with pink and purple curly hair
she dons a leather holster under her bra
wears hats with feathers and answers to ma

she changes oil in ten minutes flat
changes diapers with a powder pat
she heads to the office to lead the pack
runs home at night to prepare the snack

she fixes the leak in the kitchen sink
checks homework with black and blue ink
she sits in the leather executive chair
sees love unrequited and sheds a tear

she yells out directives enforcing rules
paints her nails and wears shiny jewels
she organizes money and pays the bills
wears gloves finding dust in windowsills

she lays down a map and adds the pins
plans games with kids revealing grins
she removes her clothes and lays in bed
plays the day once more in her head

the walk she wore so stiff and tough
the fear she hid beneath the gruff
the underclothes so dark and hard
the dainty lace that was discard

the cloying smell of burning oil
the pain hiding beneath the soil
the anxiety molding cold exterior
the heat spreading swiftly interior

the worn tools of a plumbers trade
the constant worry of making the grade
the tiny frame in a chair fit for a king
the hope for a song no one would sing

the voice getting hoarse with every note
the ears needing a supportive quote
the stoic approvals handed out for goods
the thought of a maid if she could

the questions of direction and the options
the terror of failure and of adoption
the run-down body made of woman and man
the heartbreaking script of this game plan

yes, we do it alone and we do it well
right after dying to a personal hell
yes, we get mad and get happy too
we know we are many among a few
yes, we wear pants forever if needed
we build strength unseen by undefeated
yes, we are hard but we are soft too
we use it to mold and create things anew
yes, we stare and are fierce with passion
only the best moms wear it like fashion

we’ve permission to sleep, permission to weep
permission to scheme and permission to scream
with team, without, we will follow the dream

Sometimes single moms close their eyes at night as woman², dignified, and fall asleep, the heartbreak awoken by their subconscious.  They dream of being a little girl again, singing away their pain and in the morning they are renewed.




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