By nature high-strung
But I thought I was strong
If not physically, emotionally
For things to roll off my back
Be mature and take the high road

When I think of my mom
I think of malt o meal muffins
When I think of my dad
Memories of a child
Chasing us around the circle

The strings that attach me
To this world
Ground me
Yes they sometimes
Keep me from flying

I need to tell you
How to survive
With our disposition
It’s okay to cry
Maybe

Bags full of diapers
Cars waiting in line
Smell coming from the load
Ashamed it was mine
He noticed my insulin pump

Strong hands
Hold me down
To the bed
I say to them
I have to go

My soft spot
My sweet boy
I’d do anything for
Who convinced me
Little boys are the best

Most women are cooks
But a man who cooks
Is a chef
She cooks over and over
To feed the masses

Itchy
It has to come off
Nerves
Makes me pick
His look

The medication is not me
But neither is the sickness it tre
You may hear its effects
In my voice
In my opinions