You silly cow, you're just too dumb
Come on, Fatso, get off your thumb
And clean this house, now wash that dish
I'll never die, but you can wish!
Your duties you shall never shirk
Don't dare throw up, it just won't work!
You can't fool me, you're not that sick
I've seen them all, your stupid tricks
Get up off your wobbly ass
And get to work, develop class
I'm telling you, you'll never marry
If over supper you would tarry
And let the dirty clothes pile up
And never wash a coffee cup!
I swear, I just don't understand!
Don't you WANT to have a man?
To make him smile, you must be thin
And dress this way, these clothes are IN
He'll love you more if you keep house
And don't speak up, just be a mouse
And if he leaves things on the floor
Then clean them up, don't be a bore
Or nag him much about his money:
Less with vinegar, more with honey!
If he brings friends to watch the game
Just remember, be the same
Until you give him sons by birth
You can't be sure of what you're worth.
So listen, Daughter, if you're smart
Just do this and he won't depart!
And once you've got him, keep him fast:
Aways think of yourself last.
You'll see, then he'll be good to you
And maybe even speak sweet, too
As though you were as good as him
But watch out, dear, it's all his whim.
But sweetly smile, accept your place
And all his anger shall erase.
If you're quiet, and cook his meal,
Then you can hide, not have to feel.
The bruises, though, they'll stay awhile
So cover up and keep your smile.
Don't get ideas in your head
You still must have him in your bed
I'll tell you this, dear, don't complain
Your father and I were just the same.
Diz's Bio:
I'm 25; I've been writing since I was 5. I love that words can affect people, and I'm influenced mostly by Stephen King (and his peers) and all kinds of music. I'm also a busker and writer of short stories. When I was 21, I had a boyfriend who beat me up, but only once. When he raised his fist to me again, I fought back and left him that night. It made me think about women who decide NOT to leave, and why; that's where this poem comes from. No, my Mom isn't like this, she supported me totally when I left the Jerk, and loves this poem. Other work can be found in places too numerous to list, all over the Internet, under the pen names 'Sophist' and 'Diz'.