Insomniac pome

There is a hippie in my head
With wind-chimes in her hair
Who warns "A section means you're weak -
It shows you do not care."
She peers from out her beaded fringe
To mock my "green" credentials;
"It's not enough," she coldly says,
"To honestly like lentils.
You must suffer for your love,
To prove your worth as Mother.
The bath of child-bed blood's the way;
Earth-Mothers know no other."
And so I know I cannot be
The hippie girl who lived in me.