Dear John,

Remember our first year married or the babies I carried and my love of beans and cheese?

You've heard my prayers and held back my hair when I was down on my knees.

For all the years, all the Shnapps and beers and endless conversations on the phone.

 You stood strong and you played along as we sat upon our "Throne."  

So now I sit, so mad I could spit wanting to flush away the pain.

Yet here we are, with a soapy bar, washing away an ugly stain...

So dear old John I feel so dern blonde trying to get my kid to see,

That your the man to know when it's time to go spit up or poop or pee?

Toshamaye Toshamaye
22-25, F
1 Response May 22, 2007

hahahha! Wonderful! :D