I am not his receptionist, whoever he is.
I am not your receptionist either.
In fact, I am not a receptionist.
I am a business owner, a seeker, a get ‘er doner.
I am not a child-safety blogger.
I am not a nanny blogger.
In fact, I am not a blogger.
I am a ranter, a raver, a social commentator.
I am not 24-7 tech support.
I am not an organizational crystal ball.
In fact, I am not the keeper of all knowledge.
I am a small cog in a large wheel, an educated guesser, a directory of resources.
I am not a domestic goddess.
I am not a primary parent.
In fact, I am not a homemaker.
I am a partner in chaos, a picker upper of pieces, a rough guide.
I am not the decider.
I am not the judge or jury.
In fact, I am not the authority.
I am a questioner, a listener, a moral ponderer.
I am not made in your image.
I am not a reflection of you.
In fact, I am not bound by your perception of my reality.
I am, quite simply, me.
Now, don’t make me put my on Ranty Pants and roar at you a second time.
*This post is a little tongue in cheek, what can I say, it’s been this kind of week and I felt a need to clarify my position in the world.
Also, It’s been a LONG time since I wrote any poetry, and I was scared to post – so this one is dedicated to Mark Stevens. He knows why.