Washing up still in the sink,
nervous sanity on the brink.
Breakdown bearing down on me,
a heavy weight they can’t see.
Sighs and cries are inwards kept:
can’t remember, when I last slept;
restless legs all night long,
tossing turmoil, mind all wrong.
A terraced trap surrounds for years,
losing courage, learning fears.
Identity crisis imminent,
unused brain now sediment.
Do the washing, clean the floor;
when that’s finished, there’s always more:
feed the kids, walk the dog,
when that’s done, clean the bog.
Wash the windows, make them gleam,
I’m going mad, I want to scream,
but there’s just too much stuff to do,
multi-tasking by one not few.
Make the breakfast, clear the side;
demands keep coming, I want to hide.
Do the shopping, make the tea,
“if there’s time love” pamper me.
© Liola Lee 2007
This was written back in 2007 or thereabouts. Housewives are often underrated but in reality they hold the home together. I was clearly feeling a little undervalued back then. I guess we all feel like that sometimes.