This poem is written

for men.

If you had a good mother, she was your friend.

Unfortunately, most of the women I meet

are bad.

They look at me

like I’m a predator

Maybe, my good mother saved me,

because I know,

some women

must be good,

and I won’t settle for the witches, bitches, stiches, and dangerous itches

carried by

Wallstreet women of the Streets.

I want

late evening walks in the rain, on a neighborhood road

with a good woman.

When a woman dies

she will be eulogized

with one phrase,

“She was a good mom.”

or not.

Maybe, there will be silence.

Nobody will say, “She had a good career.”

Even the first female president of the United States

will be judged with:

Was she a good mom?

The crowds don’t know her

she is a symbol

of love and hate

Why do women insist, on that kind of attention?

They ignore their family

and embrace strangers, who don’t care about them

Hillary Clinton

is not a nice person

and yet, she is the symbol

for the modern woman.

Why do we idolize, the worst in humanity?

They must represent who we are

or who we would like to be

Friends and family

matter most

and yet, your cellphone

gets more attention

(Something, dead)

Distracted

by things that don’t matter.

Women are angry

because

they believe the culture.

The birthrates are down

marriages are in decline

women don’t want to be women

they want to be, whatever they are told, to be

They don’t want to be mothers

they want to kill the life inside of them

It’s their right, right?

What man

wants to be with that?

Civilization will end

look around

are people civil?

The End