I’m not entirely sure how to share with you the thoughts I have when I am cycling through the mess I do but I figure I’ll share some of the little projects and my own thoughts as well. Kinda free form poetry style. Which technically it might not even be since I haven’t taken a poetry class since high school. But the feelings are true enough even if the delivery is not.
It’s only when he sleeps
When the restlessness of his nature
Falls quiet and I feel the heaviness
Of his consciousness give way
Under the pressure of sheer exhaustion.
The stillness is almost eerie in the dark
As I watch shadows make monsters on the walls
And the hum of the humidifier roars,
a hungry vacuum in space.
He holds my arm steadfast,
a vise between arms and legs.
A quiet, relentless wish for me not to go.
I pull gently and the arm slips free,
Heat embedded deeply seeps
from the skin of my shoulder.
My duty is done and the curtain falls
on final act of the day’s motherhood.
Guilt whispers thickly in my ear
as the weight of my own distress
blooms heavily in tight space
around my heart.
It’s in these small moments
Before my own inevitable fatigue
Draws me to a close
That I allow the shroud of normalcy to fail.
I am fragile with emotional immaturity.
No better than a child myself.
Who am I to mother and comfort?
Who I am at all?