I showed one of my poems to my best friend.
He was horrified.
Said I write poems as if I were a submissive woman.

I found it funny —
that’s not how I’d describe myself.

But if I think about it,
for a long time I tried to fit
into the mold of a Proverbs 31 woman —
the perfect keeper of the home,
the crown upon her husband’s head.

Eventually, I realized I didn’t fit there.
Not because she was flawed —
but because it was an expectation too small
for someone who is far greater.

I wear my own crown.