The Shoulds
Like Egyptian taskmasters of old,
the 'shoulds' whip at my back and call me to attention.
Slaves don't rest.
Only masters do.
What masters me? What masters my heart?
What I ought to have done....
What I am compelled to do...
What should I say...
Who I must be...
Heavy bricks, these laws weigh me down.
Bricks with no straw--- quotas unable to ever be met.
These 'shoulds', the load of responsibilities,
A perfect kind of slavery for this girl.
One crack of the whip and I run again---
weary, worried,
wondering when the job will finally be done.
Written May 2020
