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Friday, March 17, 2017

Poem about Working From Home

I could dye my hair teal
I could take a week off
I could go somewhere new
I could sleep until noon. 

I feel so different
Though I look just the same.
There's no outward symbol
of this liberation, this gorgeous transformation. 

Working for myself,
Somehow staying sane,
Isolated but fulfilled.
Supported and happy. 

My husband says to leave the hair alone. 
He told me to try
Wearing hats
Wearing a skirt
Leaving the house, and also
Working at Starbucks and feeling quietly superior to everyone there.

To be fair, that
Last one sounds fun. 
I want to put it out there
That I am not much of a hat person. 

Entrepreneurship is 
Not worn on your sleeve. 
And when people ask, and 
I say "I'm a writer,"
I am nervous that they think
I'm an "aspiring" writer, or
Lying, or 
An unpaid blogger, or
Somehow completely ruining 
What I do. 

I don't usually care
What people think of me. 
I am confident in myself.
Except I've worked

Worked so hard
To build my career, and
Move up and make
Decent money.

The last thing I want
Is for people to now
Assume I am sitting at
Home eating bonbons
While my husband 
Brings home the bacon. 

I do the grocery shopping
In this house, and I too
Bring home bacon. 
Though maybe a little less than him. 

I am now confronted
With my misconceptions
Of how others view me
And any preconceived notions
They have of those who
Work From Home.

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