Marbles? Never Heard of Her.

I had some marbles once, I swear,

They rolled around up here somewhere.

But motherhood (and daily strife)

Has gently unhinged parts of my life.

I talk to snacks like they’re alive,

I’ve argued with the kettle five.

I’ve made strong tea, then walked away —

Found it cold by the end of the day.

I’ve shouted “WHERE’S MY PHONE?!” mid-rant,

While holding it inside my pants.

I’ve put the milk back in the bin,

And cried because the laundry grinned.

I laugh too loud, I mumble threats,

I forget names (but remember regrets).

I’ve had full chats inside my head —

Then blamed the cat for what I said.

The house is loud, the floor’s a mess,

My sanity? A solid guess.

But here I stand — unbrushed, awake,

Held together with tea and cake.

So if you see my marbles roll,

Just wave hello and bless my soul.

They’ve gone to live a wilder life —

Free from chaos, cats, and strife.

Because losing them was never bad…

They just escaped the daily mad.

And frankly? I don’t miss them much —

I’m funnier now and twice as touched.