I had a little poem going around in my head about social distancing,
And what’s not being said.
I thought I’d right it down and hopefully it spreads,
All us normal folks are going out of our heads.
I’ve cleaned every inch of this poxy bungalow,
I’ve dusted twice and even give the cob webs a blow.
It’s been four weeks already and I have definitely got more greys,
The second, minutes, and hours have turned into very long days.
I’ve been wearing my favourite pjs for what seems like forever
and singing happy birthday while washing my hands, together.
I’ve planted so many vegetables all in different pots,
Organised all the draws - everything has elected slots.
I’ve not put one ounce of make up on for at least four weeks,
My jeans no longer meet in the middle, by the choclate - I admit defeat.
Haven’t straightened my hair at all or brushed it, to be clear I am now resembling Mrs Trunchball and really need a beer!
I’ve plotted to kill my children at least ten times a day,
No matter where I try and hide they find me anyway.
I keep telling myself I must do more exercise, but if I’m being really honest I’d rather eat me fries.
My garden is currently housing many different settings, even a big arse tent for when I wont let the kids get in.
I’m learning alot by home schooling ,mainly that I’m thick,
And how I made it through this life of mine so well, must be a trick!
I miss my family and my friends much more then I every thought possible
I miss the sun, the rain, the noisy shops, and I miss the special and forgettable.
You know, the normal things that we all take for granted, teachers, coffee mornings, bbq, so hard now we are all parted.
Face time is great but makes me more lonely,
just wanna cuddle the ones we love but we cant - THANKS Coroni!
Half the world stuck in with no where left to be,
so I’m gonna get me self dolled up and go and meet the tree.
Decided to try me jean’s on, not with much success , the fuckers only going half way up me big fat legs.
I’m trying to eat healthy but I get so bloody bored,
so open up the sweety cupboard and there in lies my hoad!
So thank you Mr Boris for keeping safe and sound,
But no diets gonna work now, I'm gonna need a gastric band!
YOU ARE READING
giggles and shits
Poetrypoems wrote through life to make things that we go through a little bit easier to swallow
