The inner workings of my mind,
I always try hard to be kind.
Smile at my haters,
chat to my friends.
A sense of anxiety that never ends.
Do the school run and then home to make,
see what items I can create.
The orders flood in thick and fast,
how long will this madness last.
Reality is, It's more a steady trickle,
but each time an order comes in
I feel my heckles prickle.
"But this is what you wanted"
I hear my mother say.
Yes, but not to be alone all day.
"To be your own boss and have time to make"
Yes Mum, but I feel like a fake,
Why would people want to buy the items that I create.
My first ever poem as an adult