Poetry

The universal cry

of the slighted child

“You’re so Mean!”

When discipline happens

and the fun has to stop.

Or their repeated requests

for that “special” something is denied.

Out comes the hurtful attack.

So yes, I am the mean mom

and someday they will thank me for it.

Just not today.

I do not fight for you.

I strive for excellence

and worth

for the betterment of myself.

I am nobody’s hero.

I am the hero I need.

Our feet move us.

Dance is our joy.

We walk where they take us.

For those who can not

or have not

the use of these miracle appendages

a single step

despite the pain

gives an overwhelming joy!

I only think I have slept in.

The body reacts sluggishly.

Staying up late can be fun.

It is the morning after that damns you.

The youthful days are behind me.

I must make my decisions more carefully.

The drugs of tomorrow

marketed as medicine.

Chemical imbalances

which send us sky high.

Some are good.

Which ones are bad?

Talk to your doctor

and ask the questions!

The grocery bills

are growing larger.

Appetites can not be suppressed.

Teenagers are like locusts

eating everything in their wake.

Oh to be able to eat

and grow taller

not wider.

The best benefit of these years.

The words we choose.

The jokes we laugh at.

The silence we allow.

Our actions are what define us.

Dirty dishes in the sink

mean someone is eating.

A floor that needs to be vacuumed

means it is being walked on.

A bathroom that needs to be wiped down

means that the house is functioning.

A house in use

means it is someone’s home.

A day where

the employees

treat the customers

to extra special savings.

So

just like

every shopping day?

Claimed

Taken

Preferred

Wanted

Meaningful

Desired

In all ways

Loved