Sometimes it's hard to remember that they're not mine,
That I am not a single mother raising her kids on her own,
Sometimes it's hard not to feel stressed and anxious,
Not to want to pull your hair out in frustration,
Or be dragged down by the hands of sadness,
Sometimes I just want to pack up and leave,
But a mixture of guilt and love stops me,
Sometimes it's tiring to think of what to make for lunch each day,
Or staring at a sink full of dishes,
Wondering if that's all the lays ahead,
Sometimes it just gets too much.
That I am not a single mother raising her kids on her own,
Sometimes it's hard not to feel stressed and anxious,
Not to want to pull your hair out in frustration,
Or be dragged down by the hands of sadness,
Sometimes I just want to pack up and leave,
But a mixture of guilt and love stops me,
Sometimes it's tiring to think of what to make for lunch each day,
Or staring at a sink full of dishes,
Wondering if that's all the lays ahead,
Sometimes it just gets too much.
The days will come when your heart will stop and start at the sight of them
ReplyDeleteWhen longing and yearning will be weekly events
You shall miss them and they shall miss you
Traces of sadness will soon be forgot as you see what good your influence has brought,
And when they call your name, it will always ring true, as their mother (which you very much are), is truly supreme.
Thank you for your comment anon. You speak the truth, even though it's hard to see that sometimes.
Delete