Spilled Milk

Don't cry over spilled milk

Unless it's from your left breast,

And you're feeding your baby but

Your nipples are aching from the latch,

And you listen to them cry,

And now there's no will to carry on.

                                                           Don't cry over spilled milk

                                                           Unless it’s from her left breast,

                                                           And you’re trying to communicate that

                                                           Your stomach is completely empty,

                                                           And you listen to your mother cry,

                                                           And now she feeds you with a bottle.

Don't cry over spilled milk

Unless it's in your fine china,

And you threw it enraged by

Your now ex-partner's infidelity,

And you picked the nearest thing to you,

And now this puddle is the only thing remaining.

                                                         Don't cry over spilled milk

                                                         Unless it’s mixed with broken glass,

                                                         And now you’re thirsty because

                                                         Your drink is gone,

                                                         And you know your mother wants what’s best,

                                                         And now she goes by mom and dad interchangeably.

Don't cry over spilled milk

Unless it's your first Christmas Eve alone,

And you've said Santa's coming so

Your little ones won't sleep,

And you spent your last paycheck,

And now there's no electricity for the tree.

                                                        Don't cry over spilled milk

                                                        Unless it’s the first Christmas Eve without dad,

                                                        And you don’t think Santa’s coming but

                                                        Your mom insists on laying out milk,

                                                        And you don’t want to ruin the magic for her,

                                                        And now she sits under a dark tree.

Don't cry over spilled milk

Unless it's your last cup,

And you've used it to cook

Your last box of mac and cheese,

And you knocked the pot over,

And now there's no dinner until tomorrow.

                                                        Don't cry over spilled milk 

                                                        Unless it’s the last cup,

                                                        And your mother is on the floor and

                                                        Your mother is crying too,

                                                        And you watch her burn herself,

                                                        And now she can’t look you in the eyes.