🤰👶🤱

Do this, do that and don't forget a third;

I make a mental list of everything I've heard.

Finish this, tidy up here, and write this down

Drain that bladder, drape this gown. 

The work is plenty, the atmosphere is lush

This is the exact adrenaline rush

Which makes it worth the compromise,

The sacrifice and the many broken ties.  

It gives such pride that I make a difference; 

Slowly, I overcome my innate diffidence.

That my presence is of some meaning

The idea leaves me simply beaming

The satisfaction that I owned this task

Is most of what I could ever ask.

Being able to fulfill all demands,

Others' well-being in your own capable hands

Can take you from being a limpid zero

To feeling like a superhero!

But soon I see, the rush is of two kinds

That perpetually put me in two different minds. 

The first, that fills me with a feeling of valour

The latter, that leaves me with a sickly pallor

All's well until the truth is let to unravel

Judgement coming down hard on me like a gavel

Tearing apart my tender poise

A more experienced hand, a frustrated voice

Saying I forgot a multitude of tasks, 

Why have I messed up again? It asks. 

What is it this time?

I wonder, feeling dirty as grime

Counting back mistakes from times ancient

What've I done; discharged the wrong patient, 

Or placed sutures that came apart?

Did I put an end before it could even start?

A heavy lump in my throat,

A sudden urge to jump right into a moat

The weight of the guilt drags me down

Makes me wonder if I am fit to be a part of this scrupulous town. 

All I can think of is my comfort zone

The many things that were my very own

My mother's lap, that's always so warm 

Protecting me from any kind of storm. 

The hug from my dad that's so full of love

Things that are missing now, thereof

Many an affectionate, familiar tone,

Rushing to my side on hearing the smallest groan

The family that revolves around me

The friends that had willingly found me

The many circumstances that put me at ease

The house, the bed and the wayward trees

Here, on the contrary to everything I've been told

And that's been repeated many fold 

This universe does have me at it's centre

Only those who agree are allowed to enter.

There's no third world looking for my service

No expectations, I needn't be nervous. 

No women telling me how many contractions,

No one standing at the threshold overlooking my actions

I don't make mistakes, for I don't even work

Though underneath the sea of purposive ignorance, guilt does lurk

To cover it up, I would grow my ever-expanding stomach pouch

Eat, sleep and morph into part of the couch.