I will not get a card from my kids today,
No flowers will be delivered on this Mothering Sunday,
I will not wake up to breakfast in bed,
This day will always be one I completely dread.
I will not receive the customary perfume,
My day will be filled with constant doom and gloom,
I will not hear that I am the best mother in the world,
Choosing to stay on the cold floor broken and curled.
I will not be given the gift of chocolate,
Or a rather beautiful photo clasp locket,
I will not be honoured on the day,
Draped in a cloud of cold and grey.
I will not receive a hug from my child,
Today Mothers without children have been exiled,
I will not even get to see my own mother,
Because today I am depressed not because I don’t love her.