Can I not just doss in scruffy jeans?
With hair not brushed.
Nails not manicured, make-up left on, never washed off.
Never rushed.
Can I not scream and shout?
Can I not be allowed to verse my P.M.T?
May I not grump at my kid?
As other mums do.
Must I keep my temper under the lid;
Stashed below.
My placid fascinator.
When I feel snappy as an alligator.
May I not cuss?
It's just not me, you know
The rest of the family are used to all this.
I do my best, but sometimes  need to hiss.
I can't release my outburst,  in emotions spoken.
They'd tie me up in metaphorical knots.
The press hounds would rip me and chew me to bits.
Spit me out, leaving, nothing but spiteful gravel.
I'm the Duchess of Cambridge, would you be me?
(c) Livvi