Stifle I was, so trifle I made. A Poem

via Daily Prompt: StifleĀ 


When given a pot, that yours, it is not

Filled with tasks, lists, plans and a lock

Depression, psychosis, ingredients two

P.T.S.D and Autism too


A cup of bipolar, add to the mix

Heavens above, God me, he did fix

What was he thinking, when my time was nigh

Lets give her this, lets watch her try


Stifle I was, so trifle I made

Layered the above, ingredients played

I fixed it with jam and cream on the top

And told God, that fair, he was not


So stick your trifle, give me a break

No more will you add, to my little plate

I’ve done my best, and fed it to you

Let me relax, I’ve paid my dues


Everyone lives a story. We breath it, we smell it, we eat it all in. So, I made trifle with my story. The bowl is mine, the ingredients are not mine, they belong to my children. Sometimes, trifle making can be frustrating. Yet, if we add a sprinkle of grated chocolate and orange rind, it makes it all worth while.


Thanks to Robert @ for inspiring this mornings poem…:)