Poison
I know they are whispering. I see it in their face. I know they are judging, for how could they not? My son is running wild, causing mayhem in his path. I'm tired. Tired of yelling, tired of trying, tired of feeling like the bad guy, tired of feeling hopeless, tired of failing. I let him run free while I shut my eyes but as I rest, I feel the disappointment around me. "Can't she control him? Why is she doing nothing? I would never let my child do that. That kid is loud. He is a bully. He is crazy and not in a good way. He is a bad example. I don't want him around my children. I don't want him around me." I lay there in and out of consciousness, not sure if their words are in my head or spoken softly behind my back, but it hurts the same. They don't want my son. They must not want me. They hate me. My son is in trouble again. I'm terrified of discipline. They expect me to mess up. They expect me to lose my temper. I have been told one too many times