Sitting, waiting, pondering

What will the sum of my efforts yield for me?

Day in day out

I reach for the far

Grumbling, grouchy perennially irritated

And uneasy

What attitude brings forth?

Attitudes

See me

Wherewithal

Yearning for he threshold

To be the sum of my hopes

Afraid of waiting.

To live in this world
That perpetually suspects and inspects
To live in cycles
Once a rose
Soon a wilting flower, dregs, and left overs.

This is no place for woman
Woman
Of man, made from man’s ribs
Woman
Deficient in thought and temperament
I think of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath
And the conjecture imposes itself
This is no place for  brilliant women

What at once should be resplendent  
Stunts and sedates
Because the climate
Cannot reconcile with woman.

Livelier than the dull outside

Women gather in the washroom

Smear and smell of peach lipstick

Guffaws so sweet you never wanna leave

Fun and gossips on the boy outside

Chewin' gum and speakin’ flames

No **** party will ever be the same

Is it worth the wrestle, sweat and toil

The hollering irksome voices

The encumbrance

To simply say “I made it?”

Of what worth is strength?

To proudly proclaim you weren't  trodden on?

To firmly shoot “I'm here!”

I endured when it was “do or be dealt with?”

But what solace sought does strength preserve?