If men were honest when speaking their vows:

In sickness and in health-
unless, of course,
your sickness interferes
with you keeping up
on your chores,
or if it puts a damper
on our social outings.
Then I will resent you.
I will honor and love you,
unless you want to write,
or to be yourself,
and do the things I don’t relate to,
Then I will resent
everything that makes you
who you are.
I will be your protector,
but if my friends don’t get you,
I will not explain you to them.
I will resent you
for not impressing them,
for not being someone else,
for not being bubbly and empty and vain.
If you work, though you are sick,
If do your crying alone in the tub
because comforting you
is too awkward for me,
If you are exhausted, sick, frightened,
I will turn my back to you.
I will never hear a word you say.
If I am afraid, I will blame you.
I will claim sour-grapes
and insist why you are no good
before I’d ever admit
that I’m just scared.
I would rather destroy all we have
than be vulnerable to you.

It's been a long time since I wrote on this subject, but re-posting old poetry about the subject made me think about it. So, I wrote one more on an old topic.