Expletive

     "That's my mommy!", says my two year old little girl as he buckles her snug in the backseat. She is bigger each time he sees her. He is her daddy, but he doesn't know who she is. She doesn't know a life where her mommy knows her daddy. She has to reintroduce us. She says to me, almost daily, "My daddy loves me". "Yes baby, he loves you very much", I say stone faced. He just doesn't love me. Apparently he never did. Please don't grow up and find a man like this. He will make you sick! That's her daddy, nobody knows what makes him tick, but I will tell you this, please pardon my French.
     He never will give a fuck. Just like she didn't. Just like him, and him, and him. No one gives a shit, unless it is concerning a fuck. For a motherfucker to give a fuck, that fucker has to give a fuck about the mother. Instead, he made another bitch a mother. Along comes the next one, tallest one, trying to hard to be the perfect one. He thinks I don't know where that turtle went. I knew the entire time. Go back and hide under that tortoise shell. This one was my mistake. Both of us give more than we could take. Onward to the least of the jerks, opening up a long closed door. I don't think he could help himself, destined to sabotage. You can probably find him down at the compound. The fun we had was a true waste. I love that motherfucker, but I cut him off before he could create his own escape.
     "That's my mommy". You are goddamned right, and this bitch right here doesn't need a motherfucker to fuck her over. I am quite capable of doing that on my own volition. I need no  permission and I know all the sinister intentions. I'm a  lie detector in a perpetual state of tension. You need to bring your truth or don't speak to me at all. If this sounds cold, I don't want to be, but it's hard to warm the fuck up with all the icebergs in the sea. They took the Titanic down, but they won't take me. "Hello! I'm her mommy! It's nice to fucking meet you". Actually, it's not. I don't want to know him anymore either, my freedom has been bought and paid for. I grew a garden and fertilized it with his shit. It's a magnificent wonderland now, no longer a dank pit. No one will pick these wild flowers, pull these petals off. I am now an artificial flower, the color fades, but the bloom is still there. My thorns stop anyone from stripping my stem bare.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reflection

Image
This picture will always be one of my favorites, but not for the reasons you might think. I was smack dab in the middle of the absolute worst time of my life, just trying to put on a smile for these three little people that were and are still much more important than me. Nanna was only 2 months old, Luca 16 months, and Anthoni was 8. My body felt ravaged, like it had been pregnant for nearly two years straight and my mind was going downhill. Fast.  I was so alone. Covered with kids at all times, but more alone than I have ever felt. It did not make sense. It’s the part of motherhood that no one tells you about. You give up your own identity in order to raise a new one. I knew what depression was. I had dealt with it since my teenage years, so that was nothing new. Postpartum depression was a much deeper hole. I was supposed to be so overwhelmed with love for these little people that nothing else mattered. Who cares if I hadn’t taken a shower in 4 days or slept more than thirty consecut
Read more

Merchants Tire and Auto

Image
I’m currently sitting at my most least favorite car place, Merchant's Tire and Auto. They changed their name to NTB several years ago, but it will always just be Merchant’s to me.  It doesn’t matter what I do, I always end up spending 2 plus hours in this damn place. Today I set an appointment for an oil change and am leaving with a new set of tires an alignment and $1000 poorer. Despite all of that, I still keep coming here. They have always done all the maintenance on my Odyssey mom van and I don’t really feel like they try to rip me off too badly. I always bring my notebook with me to write. I have written several poems in the waiting room of this grimy car shop. I’m writing this from the same spot right now. But I don’t feel poetic right now, just reflective. There is a couple here that made me feel the urge to go prose. Characters in my day. There is a tall skinny, furry necked man sitting across from me as I first sit down. I could hear him as I was checking in. Grunting and
Read more

60

  Maybe when I’m 60 I won’t care so much There won’t be this feeling Of missing human touch I won’t think about What might have been I’ll just be grateful each day That I wake up again Maybe when you’re 60 You won’t need to feed your ego You’ll give up all the lies And live free to come and go You will be the one alone  When you’re done with the chase It’s a fact that I am sure You are not willing to face Maybe when we’re 60 There could be space for you and I  An option to be together And a willingness to try More likely we’ll just be memories  Thoughts of what could have been Another time from the past Before we can remember when We’ve had lifetimes together In stories we can’t recall When I look at you I can still feel them all Maybe when I’m 60 The time will match up right Maybe when we’re 60 We will start our next life When I’m 60 for sure I’ll learn to simmer down Not be such a hellcat of a woman Mad at everything around When I get there Will all this still be a mystery  I guess I
Read more