I posted the first draft of my poem last week. I edited a bit and took out the swearing. My husband gave me some new material this weekend when he called me a mean and spiteful woman, so I was able to edit the other things he had said to me previously and rewrite the poem without cursing. Don't get me wrong...I love cursing but in poetry I feel like it drags it down a bit. I'm so grateful to my husband and his children for giving me the inspiration to be a writer. I can't wait to finish my novel and share it with you all. Here is the second and maybe final draft of my poem:

You left the room today saying, "Do you see my dilemma here?" 

If I kiss you goodbye, I'm fake. If I don't, I'm hostile. Do you see my dilemma here? If I treat your kids as my own, I'm told, 'you hate my kids.' If I disengage, I'm told, 'you hate my kids.'  Do you see my dilemma here? When I take a stand, I'm harsh, too strict. When I stand back to let you take charge, I'm terrible for not engaging with the children.  Do you see my dilemma here?  When I state my dissatisfaction, I'm a nag, a constant nag, told I never stop. I say nothing, I'm depressing to be around, wasting your life away.  Do you see my dilemma here?  I'm annoying, cold, difficult, a know it all, petty, bossy, a two year old, a mean and spiteful woman, up here on my high horse. I am demeaned for reading, being educated, trying to better myself. I am devalued, disgraced, and humiliated. Stabbed in the back by the man who says he loves me.  Do you see my dilemma here? I have been alienated but accused of alienating myself, being my own entity, not part of the family. I have been humiliated but accused of being pretentious. My self-worth has been cheapened, this life has left me spiritless, broken, submissive to the sorrow and heartbreak.  Do you see my dilemma here? I'm not in the parenting game to be well-liked, to be adored. I'm in this game to raise well-rounded, decent humans with a chance at life. I must be doing a good job. I am not well-liked and my soulmate no longer adores me. I can live with that. I need to go to bed at night believing I did the best I can. Sometimes waking up, unable to sleep due to nightmares, the terror that is my day leaks into my sleep at night. I am however supported by many loved ones, who see what I see, who quietly stand by watching, noticing, disturbed, unsure of what to do. Those who feel it is not their place to step in or if they feel it is, they are afraid. Afraid of the wrath of a parent with rose-colored glasses. Do you see my dilemma here?