I don’t know if it is self-pity or poetry,
When i look in the mirror and see that pink and white waitress uniform,
Clinging to a swollen belly,
Feeling that ugly word of regret forming behind those blue eyes,
Already blurring with tears,
20 dollars in my bank account, I think,
2 mouths to feed at home, you’d think after one I’d listen,
I shan’t cry, no,
I should scream and shout and fight back,
But comfortability is too tempting,
I shall cry,
mop up my pool of tears,
and struggle through,
For struggling is so much easier than striving, right mama?