As my letter must be brief,
I'll at once state my belief,
And this it is -- that, since the world began,
And Adam first did say,
"'Twas Eve led me astray,"
A woman hath more patience than a man.

If a man's obliged to wait
For some one who's rather late,
And if something can't be found
That he's sure should be around,
The listening air sometimes grows fairly blue.

Just watch a man who tries
To soothe a baby's cries;
Or put a stove pipe up in weather cold,
Into what a state he'll get;
How he'll fuss and fume and fret
And stamp and bluster round and storm and scold!

Some point to Job with pride,
As an argument for their side!
Why, it was so rare a patient man to see,
That when one was really found,
His discoverers were bound
To preserve for him a place in history!

And while I admit it's true
That man has some patience too,
And that woman isn't always sweetly calm,
Still I think all must agree
On this central fact -- that she
For central all-round patience bears the palm.

When you joke you sound so serious
And I never seem to get it until it’s too late

You like order and tradition
I listen to Christmas songs in July.

Our moods never seem to match
You seem to thinks that that’s just fine.

But I don’t understand.

I’m always worried, it seems,
That I’ll somehow let you down
And in doing so, I’ve succeeded.

I always do the best that I can
to look good for you
you complain, “it isn’t needed.”

You’re family only likes the ‘Normal’
Whatever that is
But I stick out like a sore thumb.

From my hair and it’s ever-changing colors,
To my jeans with their pictures and quotes,
...That are drawn on with sharpies...
and the paint stains that cover them from time to time!

Because of all of this, I worry.

Am I too weird?
Is my rainbow-like hair too odd?
Are my drawn on jeans ,
My crazy belly dancing skirts,
And pentagram necklaces,
Simply too strange?

What of my love of olives?
And how I ***** up my face when I think?
Do you not like how I spend hours on my computer,
Working on one picture (trying to make it just right)?

Or how, when I choose to color my art by hand,
I walk away with paint all over me (Even on my cheeks),
And an oddly proud grin plastered on my face?

I worry, and pace,
For days on end, at times,
Wondering if you really love me.

And when you finally see me,
The weird, colorful,  oddball that I am
You smile, and kiss me,
saying "i've missed you so much!"

And I know that I worried for nothing,
That you are different from your parents,
That our beliefs live together in harmony,
That you actually like the odd faces I make when I'm thinking
and the weird colors I dye my hair,
And that you really, truly love me—

Paint stains and all.