The Dishonest Woman

She cooked, cleaned and heck even birthed

For a man to whom she was passed on

By her father who was an honest man

In his work, in his faith, and his unerring ways

Every time she looked in the mirror

Or sat by the window waiting out the stormy weather

Her mind screamed and heart cringed

As she whipped herself for this jerk into which she had turned

‘A dishonest woman, A dishonest woman’

She had told herself over a million times

She never seemed to get anything right

In her work, in her faith, and in her social graces

Of course, there was no way she could know

She was not born this way but raised to be one

By withholding love, by lacking in conviction

That she could be honest and a woman

A woman who could follow her destiny

A woman who could choose her mutiny

A woman who could bear her own weight

If need be, even her mortal creators’ casket

But no, she was born to be a dishonest woman

Dependent, demoralized and soon to be demented;

A Latching on, scheming and shriveling charlatan

Raised by an honest, god-fearing, dutiful man