I watch my mom as she puts her hands on her forehead;
Her beautiful features wrinkled with obvious dread.
She always keeps in mind to protect her kids from her sorrow;
Though deep deep down, that means more money we'll have to borrow.

Every bill is a slice of her sleep,
as she battles insomnia trying hard not to weep.
Every receipt now makes my heart throb inside,
as I long for a job to ease my mother and to provide.

There are no feelings worse than guilt swarming over,
as we beg for our craves—foods she'll struggle to cover.
To my mom, declining us is a stab to the heart,
as she places the unnecessary items into the cart.

It hurts a lot more whenever my mom gives in,
as my little sister demands all her wants and things.
My sister's too young to make sense of it all,
but now it all makes cents to me.