I've Been Raise To Be Able To Do Too Many Things

I was raised surrounded by women,
Who made struggle look easy.
My grandmother, aunts, mother and sisters...
Can pull California to the East Coast,
With just their teeth!
That's the image I am given!
AND, they are beautiful too.
What's up with that?

All the men folk are spoiled like little boys.
Mesmerized and shocked.
The women in my family have the strength of an Ox.
And the men strut as if they discovered gold.

Whenever I saw my grandmother sit,
She was knitting or peeling vegetables or making preserves.
While something was cooking in the kitchen.
And not a speck of dust dared to fall on the furniture.
Or on the floors.
AND birthed twenty-one children.
YES!
Imagine having women like that,
Keeping an eye on you!
You would welcome long quiet walks alone!
Talking to birds and hugging trees.
Or do something creative like write.
Which has been an inexpensive therapy.

Yes, I've been spoiled!
Spoiled to believe,
Every woman I ever met...
Outside of my family should have these qualities.

But today...
Women with brains and beauty,
Disrespect men who aren't wearing capes...
Masked and jumping off of buildings.
Or doing something 'strange'
To enhance their manhood.

Today's women seek someone to fictionalized.
To take care of them while they take care of themselves.
You know the kind?
Seeking to attract like fresh painted toys.
To say there are no men.
But they can't accept men who aren't acting like little boys.
Game players and cheats who wear sneakers.

The women who say what's yours is mine,
And what's mine is none of your business!

The kind that are left alone seeking child 'support'.
After aborting their respect for men!
To leave men to find other men for companionship!
However that's addressed.
Down low and from which closet.

AND...
You can call this whatever you want.
I'm not the one who creates statistics.
Nor do I live my life being a victim of them either.
I've been raise to be able to do too many things!
At the same time.

Go ahead.
I am wanting you to use your imagination.
God knows I had to use mine!
Sometimes with fantasies that are better when masturbated.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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