I tell him I'm a poet
He looks at me with skeptical eyes
Any other man would see me in a different light
Instantly I would be special
Different from any girl he has ever met

But no
He wishes I were a woman whose main desire was to be barefoot, pregnant and cooking something spicy in the kitchen
Someone who obeys
Who doesn't think for herself
Who doesn't know how to create anything but babies
And even then needs a man for everything
Someone possibly like his mother
Old school and the opposite of free-thinking
The embodiment of traditional

I tell him I'm a poet
And I've never been made to feel like that's anything less than beautiful until now