I carried us here, you should be proud of me.
The things I did for you will go down in history.
Mothers will tell their kids stories of my stupidity.
Praying that their children won’t end up like me.
They’ll say “He’s still waiting.
Sitting in the waiting room, crying painfully.”

The cushions of these seats don’t comfort me,
So I sit at the edge of my seat.
The bills keep rising and so does my anxiety.
When you come back, you know I’ll be ready. 

© andrewmeyer