Bohemian

I never really fit the mold.
I know 'cause all my life was told.
Not proper sister, daughter, mother.
Not quite right as passive lover.
Too Bold. Too Cold. Too opinionated,
Said the beaus I sadly dated.
Till I found one who disagreed.
(Or did he simply lie to me)
Was my sole purpose as his wife
To cook and clean all my life?
Did he never need to see
The love and joy that live in me?
Is my worth --I ask of you--
All the laundry I can do?
With no blemish on my floor,
Is my human value more?
If my hair is neat and straight,
Does it give that value weight?
Appearance, the important thing instead
Of all the thoughts born in my head.
If I prefer the thoughts of scholars
To the banker's cold, hard dollars,
Does that make me too unfit
To live 'round folks with solid wit?
And don't my neighbors think it strange,
All the things I don't arrange,
While I swing child and I swing me
On old rope swing in apple tree?
When we chase fireflies in the night
they're sure my brain is not quite right.
But its beauty, slid from narrow sight,
To use the moon to chase the light.
I sometimes wonder, could there be
He who's made for only me?
And though he be of solid wit,
On his shoulders, no molds fit.

Author: Lady Lou