This Poem Is Completely Made Up

This poem is completely imaginary.

It’s made up because the perfect partner cannot be real.

Not too merry,

not the right appeal,

way too happy-go-lucky,

no real feeling,

not the one to call me honey.

Depending on a man is not exactly my calling.

This poem is totally fake.

My perfect match does not exist, I am my soulmate.

I’m so tired of heartbreak.

I don’t need anyone to discriminate.

I will not be a mistress of the home.

I will not just do the chores.

I am not just an X chromosome.

I will not just stay indoors.

This poem is a sham.

I do not need a mans approval to be an engineer.

I’ll pass any test you need, any exam.

I do not need his approval to be a mechanic either.

I have a big plan, a great scheme.

And no stereotype will be in my way.

I have a substantial dream.

I don’t have room or time for foul play.

This poem is a major lie.

The crisis of sexism is all too real.

The threat of an executive black tie.

I think, it needs a repeal.