What is Wrong?

When Mummy asks me, “what is wrong?”
I wonder what to say.
I think of all the many things
that clog my brain each day:

I get left out at playtime. Ukraine is fighting war.
I’ve lost my favourite pencil. My aching legs are sore.
I miss my Grandad Roger. I want to be alone.
I really need a cuddle. Why can’t I get a phone?
I often feel like crying. My best friend moved away.
My sister’s such a baby. Is Covid here to stay?
I really want an Xbox. I’ve got a wobbly tooth.
I’m terrified of big school. I sometimes bend the truth.
My new shoes give me blisters. Sam said I’m not that funny.
Should I be scared of climate change? Can I still call you Mummy?
I want to keep my train track. I wish I was grown up.
I stole a sweet when I was six. I didn’t want that cup.
I sometimes look at picture books. I miss my dungarees.
Eliza’s such a loser. I’ve grazes on both knees.
I still like watching Paw Patrol. Why can’t we get a cat?
Polly got more cheese than me. There’s Sharpie on the mat.
There’s plastic in the ocean. Should I stop eating meat?
Why’s my bottom half way up, not underneath my feet?
I really want to keep that stone. I sucked at maths today.
Susie’s got two sets of stairs. You threw my sketch away.

When Mummy asks me, “what is wrong?”
There’s so much I could say.
Instead, I mutter, “nothing much”.
Then shrug and walk away.