People often doubt my dreams,
Tell me that I’ll change my mind.
They tell me that I’m just naive and
Don’t know what I’ll want.
Maybe it’s true.
Maybe I’ll settle down with a husband one day,
An average job,
And a suburban house
With a yard for my children to play in.
Is it okay for people to tell me what I want?
To put in my head that
In order to be happy I’d have to be a housewife?
That I should aspire to marriage,
That I should be counting down the days until
My stomach swells,
And I eagerly await for my husband to return to our home,
Complete with a glowing fireplace,
Faded baby gates,
And a brown, wooden table with pasta sitting upon it,
All enclosed with a little white fence.
How are women supposed to be independent,
When people depend on us needing them?
How are we supposed to follow our goals in life,
When we are being told from infancy
Only happen when you meet a man with a
And twinkling eyes.
Being taught that we can’t accomplish anything on our own,
And even if we do,
We are only allowed to work on it from 9-5,
Because then we need to be home to make dinner.
Maybe I will change my mind.
Maybe the highlight of my day
Will be seeing my child’s smiling face.
Or maybe I won’t have kids,
Maybe I’ll spend my days on my own.
But the thing is,
It’s up to me.