Hands, forbidden

my nose somehow savors the unmasked musk of unbathed body. malicious musician, my hands are forbidden. our touch, a taboo and those memories become untrue. vehement, uncouth, burning your youth with shots and cigarettes and shameless sex. 

i realized today that you're leaving me with nothing left. so i've tried  to rest, but eyelids test me with images emblazoned, pasted, trapped of you -- where each nap is a nightmare called reality. and so it's a night where i might take a walk at three a.m. past a meth dealer's house i know, and i'm not sure i want you here or not but you can have the necklace I made with tears I've caught. In the morning someone will say that I'm built of poetry and you know as well as i,  just how prosaic my thinking can be. i know you'd agree. your dragging your heart; i'm dragging my feet behind you and it looks to me a bit like art.  in a few days you tell me secrets and i respond with my lies, saying "mmhmm.," "oh god!," and  "okay." once you've passed your burden on to me, you turn and walk away. and i do the same to you.

i tell you that we'll have a few drinks you by yourself and I'm on my own until we're too drunk to drive and our keys have been taken away. In the morning i might ask, "where did you wake up?" in some apartment with your clothes wet from alcohol spilt on the floor and rain soaked clothes because you went outside to smoke. You know i'd be doing the same thing all the while hoping that i help myself to a faith like yours and get better, but we can't get dry. not here. not like this. so keep chapping your lips kissing all those girls that fall so fast and fall so hard because you know everything i gave is like everything i write. lacking life.

it isn't impossible to get home without a car key. 

Growing

This week has been a struggle. It seems like I clear one hurdle just to be presented with another one. After facing some hardships and struggling with some major health concerns, I received word that I'm being talked poorly about in an online forum by women that claim to be my "peaceful" and "natural" mothering peers... Such hypocrites. Although I'd love to call them out on these accusations and proclaim, "I feel for you" (I really do) it would serve no purpose. Best to put one foot before the next and keep walking. When it rains, it pours right?

 Well, let’s just say that 2012 has been the mother of all monsoons.And this got me thinking… 

Life really gets in the way of motherhood. It gets in the way of how I would like to mother my sweet boy. It gets in the way of simply enjoying being his mother. Just when I see the opportunity to carve out a few days to just be with and completely present for him, something seems to bring that to a grinding halt. 

 I absolutely adore being his mama with all my heart. I just deeply wish I could enjoy him more, without the stress of betrayal. I wish I had the backbone to deal with the hurt and keep a wall up instead of showing the entire world (virtually) my emotional crumble. I wish that life would allow me the space to catch my breath so that my sweet boy and I could enjoy some peace and calamity together. I feel so guilty sometimes that he has to share me with the challenges life has thrown our way; financially, emotionally, and most recently medically.And here I express my frustration - so bitterly disappointed in myself (in my weakness) and as this sweet boy's mama. It is my responsibility to guide him through these challenges, showing him how to cope with and grow from them. There is not another way for him to experience this side of life. I never wish these burdens to be placed in his hands directly. 

 Although life is not full of clarity and virtue everyday all of the time, it is also not a giant monsoon. It has its periods of discourse and its periods of harmony. We happen to be struggling through a period of real discourse right now. The sadness I feel is a result of the high ideals I have about how motherhood should look for my son, especially since he's at an impressionable age while all of this is going on around him.My son may not get it entirely at his young age, but he is not oblivious to the craziness going on around him either. He's a part of it. My job is to guide him through it, help him understand it, and when needed, help him heal from it. Because that is what motherhood is all about. I am supporting this beautiful little soul as he grows and everything we are dealing with is part of that.

 Looks like I just might be growing too...