Go F*** Yourself Superwoman

I wrote this poem a few years ago when I was in college. I had just worked a 13 hour shift for my then boss. Because I stayed that extra hour to help him out I had one less hour to work on my midterm for my poetry class. I turned in my paper at midnight, and come to find out the paper was due at 11:59 PM. I was devastated. When I reached out to my professor at 12:00 AM telling him I missed the deadline and I had attached my midterm in the email, he responded with a very clear, "you should have budgeted your time better." 

What you see below is my reaction to that encounter. I ended up submitting this poem for my next assignment. My professor hated it along with a handful of my classmates. The rest of the class loved it, and they spent a good part of the class debating the poem and it's layers. 

This is probably one of the most personal things I have ever written. I hope it strikes debates for years to come. 

Happy Reading Y'all! 

Go Fuck Yourself Superwoman

By LR Leigh

I have a family. They need a house to live in, and the house cost’s money. I need a job to get that money, but I need a car to get to my job. A job I hate. That sucks joy from my soul until I have nothing left to offer. Ah! I know! I’ll go back to school, so I can get a better job. A job I love. So I can have a house for my family to live in. I will make more money and work less. That’s the ticket! It’s so obvious now. Just a few papers and twelve hours of class a week. 

School is great. It gets me closer to having it all. Just have to write papers and turn in a few assignments here and there. But this assignment…it feels like busy work, and I have another paper due? I just turned one in last week! Another assignment due? And a paper? And another paper?! Shit…school is more work! 

More time gone. Time I don’t have. Wait…why did I go back to...? Oh, right…Money. Yeah money would be nice. 

I have to work, and study. And make it to my kid’s damn recital! If I miss another one I am not…then all of this shit…these papers, and fucking lectures…and sleepless nights are for nothing. Then what’s the point!? 

Focus. 

This is what I want. The job, the education, the house, the car, the family. That’s the dream right? I can’t remember…I’m forgetting something. It’s there on the periphery of my mind. Something important…shit! What is it? Something about…taking care of my family. No, I already covered that. They need money so we can spend time together, and go on trips. But I have to work, and study, and write papers…and more papers…and more fucking papers…but there is someone I’m forgetting in all this. Who needs me too…

Shit. My husband.

*All rights reserved. Please do not copy and paste this poem. This is an original work of art and can not be duplicated or used as another's work.*