Kids screaming this side,
Rain that side,
With only a door and a window for shelter,
This room becomes excruciatingly small.
The one responsible
For this marriage to my house,
Flits about freely in the real world.
As I sit battling: childhood diseases,
And the demon we housewives mostly fear,
(And rightly so,)
If I’d only known
This institution they call marriage
Was really an asylum
With long winding halls
Leading to old age and a man I hardly knew
Who’d leave me exactly
What he found me with:
I would have been born a boy.