We like to think our thoughts, beliefs, and self esteem,
Were created by us, for us,
That we are the builders of our own lives.
But are we, really?
I was raised on baby dolls and pink lace,
Telling me my value lay in my ability
To love, nurture,
To look pretty and to please.
While the dolls I put on my Christmas list
(That laughed and cooed and cried until their speakers broke)
showed me how to be a mother,
My brothers played with Legos, and Lincoln Logs
And learned how to be engineers.
While plastic power tools showed them how to be men,
Disney taught me that princesses wait
For knights in shining armor
And true love’s kiss.
Now that I’m older, my toy box days long gone,
Those same lessons are reinforced at family parties,
Where my brother is praised for his scientific aspirations,
His dream to finish school, get a job, succeed.
While my dreams of juris doctorates from Harvard Law
Fall on tight smiles, which part to ask me why
I don’t become a teacher, a nurse,
After all, I’m so good with kids,
And how will a lawyer catch a husband,
Raise a family?
Because MDs, JDs, PHDs
Are remarkable.
As long as they wear pants.
If not, they are selfish, greedy,
And don’t deserve equal pay,
Because everyone knows that men are the primary breadwinners
In each and every family, sans variation.
For the 1950’s golden age
Of homemakers and moneymakers lives on,
The dividing line between man and woman never shifts.
What is a working woman, anyway?
The same country that promotes equality
Reviles me with its baby dolls and pink lace.
Take off that pencil skirt
And get back in the kitchen.