The Edge of Motherhood

Let’s not do this. No, no. Yes, I’m in. Yes, you’re inside me. Yes, the sun is shining warmly above us, the wind caressing my belly and your butt. Yes, the roar of splashing waters exists not. There’s only my head I hear, loud. Unclear.

I am serious here.

I’m searching for fantastical stories to share, laughter to dare. What to call you, dearest Teddy Bear? Harry, Larry, Barry, Weary? Mark, Clark, Stark, Bark? George, with W or without, I’m out. I am the blackest white on this height. I am BLACK. I am WHITE. I am a mother, I am not. I am a WOMAN, with or without. Well, what the hell is not. Freedom lingers with various game, that we sound so different but we’re just the same. We don’t have valid extended guns in our hands.

I am dead serious, man.

Haha. You make ma laugh. What I am is a thing with no feeling. I heard the clock ticking, Tick tock tick tock. Your heart beating, like drums breathing. I hear the whisper in my ear and the flow of the breeze. I hear the growl of the wind, slapping you, and me. We are slapped, but we stay still. As still as the sun shining above. I am a mother, I am not. ‘I am a mother,’ my mother said. Am I my mother? Yes? No? Does not matter. Apology accepted, thank you. But this is too late.

Fucking fate.

Fucking compensate.

Fucking height.

And I fall on my back,

Flat.

Dead.

Cheers, mate.