journey of being a mother is like a rose
desperately holding onto the thorns
as the petals gracefully fall,
Thin white strands slowly start to grow
Dont want to admit but the wrinkles have started to show
the stains on my shirt wont go
and i try to create some static
but the memories of my young years are stored away, locked up in my attic
behind closed doors
With its keys thrown out the window
Is that all there is to gain
willingly having to go through this pain
with no pay, no cash, no kiss on the cheek and a praise well done
would it have hurt to say no
To not give in and let go
To break free, hide in and be all alone
would it be selfish to live a life of my own
Without feeling im nothing without one at all
