I want to be a mother. Want to harness life inside of my own body. Want to validate and make use of this healthy hearty womanbody that I have. See I always thought I’d have that baby by now. But I’ve discarded two lives by the ingestion of two pills taken two hours apart. Two men and women weeped and then ate ice cream afterwards two bloody times. I let go of two children on the floors of two different college town apartments no longer than two months into two separate pregnancies. I wasn’t yet twenty-two. Judge me, go ahead. I don’t care. I did what I had to do. What I had the right to do. But that was  way back then.

I want to do it right this time. And that’s OK. I can want that, can’t I? To do it right? My secret shames me. Or tries to. All the women ask me more more more about what I see, what I want. But the men turn their cheeks, their torsos, go silent, don’t know what to say. Most of em anyway. One of my friends though, he told me: I want the baby as I stifled a surprised laugh. The baby. I said I’d get back to him on that. Told him thanks, bra.

I’ve been on my own since fourteen, or seventeen depending on which angle. Point is, I’ve been on my own. I’ve packed and moved thirteen different times. I’ve hosted garage sales with a smiling beaming face all the while featuring the discarded stuff of lovers going their separate ways. I’ve patted the back of men I’ve dumped. I’ve sucked the dick of men I love, but never of men I didn’t. I’ve found my own truths through self-therapy, self-medicating, self-forgiving and self-love. I’ve had sex a million gazillion times and I’m still wandering through life unattached, not pregnant, working at a menial job, going to parties, “living it up”, paying rent, extending my youth. But I want to be a mother. Unapologetically.

I like to think I manage quite well our twenty-something household by cooking meals, watering plants, fluffing guests pillows before they arrive, and subtly controlling everything and everyone—including two twenty-something male roommates (one of whom is my boyfriend) who love to drink and debate and hoot and holler but will maneuver this way and that way to avoid my emotional pull and to please me in many a unique manner. But the men must know what I want. They must know I want a baby. We don’t go there. Sooner or later though, we must. Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to prove that I can handle a baby, like a kid would try to prove that he can handle a puppy. Thing is, I probably can’t. What I mean is: learning curve. What I mean is: everything changes. What I mean is: there really aren’t words for becoming a mother.

I dreamed last night that I was. That I was a mother. I was the mother of a small little girl, chubby faced and brunette. She had a smile. Oh she had a smile and we smiled all above and around her. Then there was this moment. This moment where I wanted to go to the other room, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t go in the other room, because I had to stay with Her at all times. It was bliss meeting burden, being a mother. I want to be a mother. Make use of this healthy hearty womanbody that I have. Make up for lost time; for lost bodies.

12 thoughts on “Womanbody

  1. ❤️ In time baby in time… Your poetry is amazing and always gets better. I’m VERY proud of u. Love you. Xo

  2. I am full of emotion upon reading this, but mostly full of love for you. Bliss and burden are two sides of an incredibly beautiful, priceless and incomprehensible coin. The beauty is in the mystery. Our children are our most gifted teachers in this life… even the ones we didn’t get to hold. I love you.

  3. Kirsten,

    You are a open-minded soul that I admire. It means everything to me that you can read and accept and continue to appreciate my hard truths. We are all so lucky to have you in our lives, nudging us along down our paths. Thank you sweetheart. ❤

    1. Wow terah, what pain, deep and intense. I was a Daddy at 19, ready or not, and now the father of 5. I always had the desire to become a Dad, my children are one half of my world and the other half is my sweetheart. We didn’t start our family the way most people think you should but we made a promise to each other that we would dedicate our lives to the spirits we were bringing into the world, our mistakes only made us stronger. It would be the same for you, the same passion and zest for life would pour into your child and all the past mistakes and regrets would give you strength and an understanding heart. Your words made me want to hug you tight, probably because I still picture you as the 14 or 15 year old girl you mentioned… 🙂

      1. It is compassionate words like this that keeps me moving in my art. Thank you, Jon. I have a feeling that you are a rockstar of a parent, and I deeply admire your dedication to your family and your “sweetheart”. So amazing! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, let me know where I can read your work if you are a writer or an artist. I am always humbled to meet new people who take a chance at reaching out to me. This means a lot, thank you. ❤

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