Perfectionist Rehab

There once was a time when I wanted more,

Bated breath, anxiously desiring what was in store,

For me, for my life, experiences yet,

To pass, to regret, words not sent,

In letters or tongues, the music notes,

Of lovers quarrels in darkened homes.

There once was a time when every dream,

Stitched together the broken bits of me.

I’d chant and recite every plan,

So that one day my life began.

Maturation is strange for the thirst no longer,

Strangles me in the search of fonder,

Moments or people, yes, things too,

I long for moments of glue,

To hold me together through the endless rotation,

The relentless nature of useful motivation.

My days, still exhausting, but not from fright,

But cyclical nature of child-rearing delights.

The squeals, the nappies, tears, and hugs,

The snuggles and smiles, always heartstring tugged.

What a strange experience after all this time,

To struggle so much in this life of mine.

Not because of turmoil, anger, not even money,

It’s the suffocating nature that is monotony.

Predictable, standard, solid, the same,

Mountains of responsibilities claim,

My attention, my focus, dedication,

Most of the time met with elation.

But peace is boring,

When you’re used to mooring,

Trapped in a storm you’d never predict,

Constancy now my struggle hectic.

Why do I panic in the midst of calm?

What if something begins to go wrong?

The mountains of dishes, towels, and sheets,

Stuffies, blankets, socks for tiny feet.

Blocks and books, dust and dirt,

Cobwebs galore and booger-y shirts.

The laughter, games, music, and paint,

The pressure consumes until I faint.

What if they leave me?

I start to grieve.

For if I do my job right, they will,

So, every day I try to fill,

With joy, contentment, and calm,

I hope that they don’t know what’s going on.

I’m timid and nervous every day,

Because another family is going away.