My Nails are not pretty at the moment, 

Too much creating, 

I can type with them now, 

A friend bought me a typing instrument to help, 

With these weary bones, 

I'm getting all biblical again, 

True friends don't critisice the lines on your face, 

Or a broken nail or two, 

They look past sticky fingers on cupboards, 

From a house that's lived in, 

Children's stickers, 

A dummy left by one, 

But all will be well, 

I have hope, 

They notice the wild flowers 

And the lavender 

And not the dirty dishes in the sink, 

True friends, 

See past your broken smile, 

I once told my mother to go on strike, 

If she was being taken for granted, 

Then simply strike, 

Its a bit silly that though, 

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, 

All these thoughts running through my head, 

Lovers lost, 

Babies too, 

Only I'm not bitter tonight, 

Maybe because I'm stone cold sober, 

And all will be sparkly again......