I Am Not Mrs. Cleaver

I am not Mrs. Cleaver
No apron or pearls
My skin is inked with dragons
Dark eyeliner around my eyes
Punk rock homebody
Dark clothes routine and late night blogging
Come day, I take on the sun
Holding my son’s hand
We chase after the clouds
Driving fast with heavy metal soundtrack
For life is more than ovens and dishes
Don’t press doilies or flower prints
Upon my pale skin
For I never enjoyed playing house
Instead, dancing at midnight
And artwork during the day
I am not a PTA mother
Nor am I a quiet mouse
I roar, and teach my son
To plant his feet and face the world
Clenching fists and hissing
I am not Mrs. Cleaver
And stop trying to make
Into a paper doll mother
With scribbled smile


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