Morning Sickness - It's fo' real...

Morning sickness, oh morning sickness
when will thou end?
Not solely in the morn'
but over and over again.

Twenty-four, seven,
week after week,
debilitating, depressing, alienating,
can't even speak.

Can't get out of bed,
can't let go of the "throne."
please not seven more months,
Can't I just stay home?

Meals I greet alone,
meals I greet with lament,
they're only bizarre obsessions, chores, and treatments.

No baby bump to show,
though public puking I go.

Dare you smile and shout...
"N'er sick did I become!"
Beware your flops, heels or hightops,
For up chuck my lunch will come.

Do not offer me Saltines!
Do not tell me it's in my head!
Or run as fast as you can,
lest you find yourself dead!

But ladies do heed this,
there shall end the misery.
In months it may be three,
if not stay strong thee,

for the prize at the end of nine,
true love surpassing time.

By Princesa Pukes-a-lot (AKA Bernice)