The Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. . .

There was a little old lady who lived in a shoe

She had so many children she didn't know what to do!

Many were girls but lots more were boys

Often they played and made too much damn noise.

Twenty obese, and sixty anemics

While each and every girl was a bloody bulemic.

All hell broke loose when daddy had bailed,

Mummy was alone, and convinced she had failed.

Children could'n't live this way, neither could she

That's when mum decided to end the misery.

The shoe was on the shore of bay Monterey,

Mummy thought well of her childrens' death day.

First she'd send each and every one to their bed,

Then creep into the room, with a mask on her head.

With a dim candle lit, and a needle in hand,

She'd thread together the boys and make a garnet of the band.

The boys would do well to be drown in the waters,

Their lives ending slowly like that of their father's.

The ladies were special, and deserved much more care,

So mum would hang them by the fire, and let them fry there.

The plan was perfect, and soon set in motion,

She dared to enter the childrens' room . . until she heard some commotion.

The door fell away from her hand at an angle,

Inside the kids' room was a cake shaped like an angel.

"Surprise! Happy Mother's Day, Mummah!" roared her kin,

Suddenly, there was no strength from within.

She slumped in a chair, now dazed and confused,

Eldest daughter Kate, massaging mum and removing her shoes.

"Mummah, we wanted to thank you,

for being our mum every day, we thank you.

Our lives are ours because of your providings,

Though matters are sparse, we manage dividings."

Mum took a breath and furrowed her brow,

What would she do with these children now?

They were awake and so very alert,

If she attacked them now, could she be hurt?

"Mummah, we are your children, and therefore not perfect,

But being alive and being with you, makes the hardships worth it.

Dadda has left, and you are our only,

But us children have never known lonely."

Mum began to come to, color seeped into her face,

Could this be true? Were her children happy in this place?

"Mummah, our dear pretty, you were never the issue,

Though we are poor and sick, we are always here to kiss you.

We love you, ma, and you're in our hearts,

Won't you please come celebrate, before your tearing starts?"

Indeed there was tearing, for, alas, she had sinned,

Wanting to end their lives, when those lives started to begin.

Her children's state could hold no blame for misery,

But for her own feelings, alive with misery.

The Love in the room was all that was needed

to awaken the love for life in a mother

who has hence been conceeded.

***

-Toxicity