Somewhere between power trip and power failure, I exist—in a cold dark place full of warmth—or heat—I dance like water at my best—like ice at my depths. I still birth.

—9:16 post meridiem, November 25th, 2018

Here, I imagine—You feel more at home in my body than I do.

I find solace in watching myself trying to be a good mother—a perfect mother—I found honor in knowing that she still only exists adorned in glittering imperfections. I see her tries—all of her attempts that lead to half actions and whole actions have thus far transmuted into You—ten toes, ten fingers—arm, leg, leg, arm, head.

—10:19 ante meridiem, Masha’Allah, November 26th, 2018

I have learned to feed you—and still, I am not yet half the mother I am to be—for I have only just begun to nourish your cries for my attention—your restless waves for my acknowledgment—your tossing and turning—your tides attempting to pull from my seashores a distant touch.

—10:53 ante meridiem, Learning to Love Again


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6 thoughts on “A Space Called Mother

      1. Thank you. It’s a journey where you will pour everything you have into them and then you will feel like you’re somehow failing them, but the fact of the matter is that they think you are awesome just the way you are.

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