If stress were a person It would be a she, Because while woman weather with age, Men appear more carefree,. That is not to say that men Do not harbour stress inside; But you only need to look a little closely, To see it lives in woman’s eyes.
The world is like one big cog, And we are all born as screws; And every year we are wound tighter, Tightened in by societal rules
As a girl you are told How to act, how to dress, how to be, As a man you are told what to earn, who to marry; And both constantly reminded about having money.
Then there is the inner stress, The one that never leaves; The one that tells you it will never be good enough, Despite the praise you receive. Not a day goes past That one does not experience stress; At home, at work, or in front of the mirror, “Do I look fat in that dress?”
Even when you’re married they say, People are still insecure, That they will one day not be good enough And end up alone once more. We place this insurmountable Tonne of things we cannot change, And stress about them in our minds Until we go deranged.
In an ideal world rent and food would be free, Your children would be self sufficient, And your soul would be free. But stress sits in her rocking chair, Holding your heart tight Making sure you stress the most, In the middle of the night.