I wrote a poem the other morning about the things I hear day in and day out. Here it is:
Can't find my keys, lost my purse.
Sure is hot, but cold is worse.
My kids are thieves when they're not drunk,
They steal my stuff and move my junk.
The pills don't help, my words won't come.
Can't sleep at night, my brain is numb.
I think there's someone on the stairs.
My flashlight shows there's no one there.
And I don't have any money.
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