Little money.
No bed to rest your body.
Just boxes of your life
waiting to move again and again...
Packed away are my anxieties.
The pressure within my head.
The lump within my throat.
I would cry if I didn't choke.
I hear the children,
they pray to be older, pray to be 23.
Little do the see the domino effect from abuse to sobriety.
Struggles come bundled like presents under the tree.
I tell myself tomorrow will rise a better me.
It's hard to let go, the stress from the outside to within.
Tell myself tomorrow I will rise a stronger woman.
I will rise mighty with the grace of the Lord.
It will be alright...