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it's getting kind of hard to live in this house
with eggshells lying everywhere
the look on your face
the tone of your voice
more eggshells carefully placed
we laugh out of time
or talk too fast
or play our music too loud
if it all doesn't go exactly your way
your displeasure settles in like a cloud
it's not fair, you know
to make us all tip-toe
whatever happened to normal?
is life so very hard for you...
inside, are you walking on eggshells, too?
copyright July 20, 2005
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actually, i wrote that when i was a teenager,living in a home with an alcoholic. i loved my music loud. i still do! good insight.
Claudette, your poem speaks volumes as to why we must sometimes try to maneuver ourselves around all those itty-bitty eggshells dropped at our feet by someone else.