Enduring the daily chore
Just got worse.
This day I curse
Because my patience for it is poor.
To be forced to love,
To be forced to attend,
These people are like a hall with no end,
And a door closed with a shove.
Yet somehow the gathering will pass,
I will survive every Sunday’s Mass.
This family I cannot hate
No more than the food I ate.
They are my obligation
Because I was their creation.