Today has poem pieces

To make sure no one worries too much, I think I should preface this with a disclaimer: this isn't my usual confessional voice, though it sounds an awful lot like it. I've been thinking a lot on gender roles lately, and this is more the product of my musings in general than any specific personal perspective. So, read and enjoy, but don't concern yourself too much with what exactly this means for me. I'm not too sure myself just yet.

her hands are cold and sore

this is a weak metaphor
but she doesn't have much use for beauty
small hands, soft and round
make small miracles, milk and honey
turn back, water that had been wine
they aren't mine, but will be

temperance
is always drawn a woman

but daddy, i'm missing you
couldn't give me your time
couldn't give me a y, but i
don't know what to do
in a woman's skin

but miss you
and wish for a man


**edited to reflect midday tinkering