The Superwoman Syndrome

Accoutred in smart formals,

I strode into my cabin, all magnificent,

Pride permeating, betraying every nucleus,

Beautiful, slender and lithe,

How was I to ever know,

That this superwoman thing was a true-blue myth?

.

The home, over time, evoked a dreary ennui,

While wrangling frontline, in the arena of fealties,

With the elementary pleasures maturing into discontent,

The self-worth slowly disintegrating into extinction,

And vainglory, for an ever-loyal companion, how was I to ever know,

That the crown of superwoman is evanescent?

.

Until, one day, I could see some scars on my soul,

And feel some droplets of devastation roll,

Vanity, the bitch, had dreadfully overtaken wisdom,

And got me shrunk and clinging, to a quiddity of humdrum,

It’s then, I discerned, this arch enemy of dignity,

Those who are full of themselves, are naught but empty,

That’s when, I decided, to open my own doors,

Get down, do some soul-searching and scrub my own floors.

.

Purposefully, I flung off the superwoman cape, quietened the uproar,

Today that iconic headliner is a long-gone lore.

Photo by Paulo Felipe Assis Silva on Unsplash