Back to Work

My fringe is wonky
As I cut my own hair
I never have time to shave down there.

I’ve got hairs in my pits
And hairs on my bits
Got a room full of clothes, although nothing fits.

My eyes are heavy
My skin is dry
You’ll never quite know if I’ll laugh or cry.

I can read you a story
Make a den with a bedsheet
But please don’t ask me to open a spreadsheet.

And if you can’t find me
Stacking that shelf
I’ll be in the loo milking myself.

I never shut up
About what my kids say
I’ll show you a picture at least five times a day.

I bite my nails
I play with my hair
I look like my mind is always elsewhere.

I am vacant and quiet
With the realisation
I don’t know how to have an adult conversation.

In a room full of toddlers
I can sing and I can dance
But the thought of a meeting has me shitting my pants.

There’s sick on my shoulder
And snot on my sleeve
I’ve just got back off maternity leave!

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I miss these three mad heads.
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