Centrelink scammer is all you see,
Living freely, carelessly,
Assumptions are made, disregard,
All because you go to work and work hard,

But what you don’t see is me,
Living faithfully,
Managing little people’s big emotions carefully.
And what you don’t see,
Is the appointments made,
Rearranged, and made again,
Follow ups,
The car drives,
Medical stuff,
Well I can’t let that slide,
Accountability to others,
And their knowledgeable way,
Helping my kids be a functional human,
Society may accept one day,

You don’t see the meltdowns,
The whole body throws,
The tears, the feelings these little kids crow,

And all while you say I just sit on my bum,
Have a free life,
Where I am rich and have it all my way,
In your mind, I’m just having a ball,
Everything is my way,
I should always do better,
And my good enough is never written in your letter.

Not to mention the nappy changes,
I have three, while most of the time you have none,
And while I sit here, writing this out,
I’m praying to God to stop this urge to let you know how I’m really feeling,

Cleaning up, laundering.
Fixing scrapes and bruises,
Headaches and runny noses,
Meals and snacks,
Food shopping,
Don’t forget the upcoming house inspection,
I can’t forget to chase you up dad?
Who scrapes by bare minimum?
While you can’t afford full child support,
But get 4 times more than I do…

And in you house it’s only you,
With your adult child,
Your income would be close to $80k
And you can’t afford to pay?

Here I am, single mum of four,
Living on 1/4 of your income and yet I can’t be poor,
Rolling in the luxuries,
Must be the way,
You don’t see my car needs new breaks,
Fan belt, only just operating.

The broken window I have to pay for because the landlord didn’t want to fix the glass door that sticks…
Another thing I have to organize on my list.

But I can’t, because I have to get my kids stuff seen to.
Paying for another pair of prescription glasses,
My child lost her new ones,
Though they are probably at the school because they don’t pack them up half the time,
But that’s also my fault I can’t find them, like it’s some sort of a crime.

And what do our kids eat?
Don’t you know, they are old enough you should know!
My fridge is full of fruit and vegetables,
Good nut spreads and breads,
Watered down juice and water,
Why what do they eat at yours, mortar?

They come home clogged up, constipated,
And what I am doing is not nearly enough?
Who does the hydro runs,
Avoiding obvious puns,
Around you constantly holding my tongue.

Two of your kids and suddenly I’m no fun?
Really, I wonder if it was almost prolapse that got me, hun?
Or the fact my backs almost literally breaking,
It’s still not enough,
I should have predicted,
And it’s all my way,
Like I’m psychic and planned it this way.