When life feels suspended by a delicate thread
Change is inevitable
I sometimes feel stifled
Tightly constricted
Like a chrysalis
Struggling against transformation
I oppose the transition
And need more time to adapt
Today
A butterfly tapped against my window
Like change asking to come in
If I can comply with Grace
Maybe I too can transcend
And withstand the butterfly effect

"Why do you love her?”
I don’t know, mom. Why don’t you ask yourself the same thing about dad every once in awhile?
Why do you love him?

Does the way he wraps his barbaric hands around your womanhood and rinses it of all pride turn you on?
Or maybe it’s the way his fists move with your tears… the choreography perfectly in sync with the ballad of your captivity… comfort… conformity - same thing, right?

Why do you love him?
Do you not see the chains on your ankles?
These are the same rusty chains that held onto your self-doubt; you’re drowning in a glass of water, mother.
The hinges are loose but you’re so stupid… so in love… your vision is blurry now. Let go of the tears you held back for sixteen years.

“Why do you love her?”
I don’t know, mother. Somewhere between the passion and commotion; the *** and the rage, I forgot.
I think I understand why you’re holding on.. It’s all in the comfort of knowing they will always be there. It’s all in the lack of trying and just being.

I don’t know why I love her.

.
Red hair in my eyes,
Phones that do not ring,
Supper for one, old dishes,
Birds clearly calling to no one,
Moss on a roof, mute sun through
Glasses of wine, not fading voices,
Winds that saunter, sweeping —
Aloof, still pools in a wanton bower,
Fingers unclaimed in the witching
Hours, an abandoned bed watched
Over, slept upon, the sharp creeks
In a silent, boardered old house —
Where no one has simply moved,
The branches in the blanketed yard
Swaying like new dancers so free,
Grey bark that fell at foot of tree,
What will become of me?

Hearing you moan about the baby weight
While warming up the Cow and Gate
Droopy tum and ***** ****** dry
And how they leak at every cry
Your body will never be the same
Ever since the baby came
Constantly exhausted beyond all belief
When they finally sleep through, dear God, the relief
Training and tantrums, toddlers are trying
You learn to accept they never stop crying
Oh to be one of those wretched souls!
Sterilising bottles and benches and bowls
Gaining those precious protective pounds
Awakening to those unmistakable sounds
Washing and folding and wiping and feeding
All the work that comes with breeding
And now the sun sets on that part of my life
Never a mother, only a wife
For all those hopes that didn't make it
Bun in the oven but unable to bake it
Trying not to envy and regret and hate
But I just can't shift the baby wait...

Little by little I'm learning to swim
In this silent ocean made of endless drops
A drop, a memory, a fragment of myself
They surround each stroke, as I hope not to stop

The moment I stop, I'll slowly begin to sink
Deeper and deeper, struggling for air
Engulfed by dark waters I've tried to avoid
The pressure so high, it's something I can't bare

So little by little I'm learning to swim
Each stroke taking me farther, making me feel new
As I aim for the horizon of ocean yet to come
A single drop rains down, filled with a thought about you

One drop, that's all it takes, to disrupt my calm sea
Small ripples turn into waves steadily drawing near
Pushing me back under, with each passing ring
Each filled with you, who once brought me cheer

Little by little I'm learning to swim
We used to float together, exploring hand in hand
Now alone in this ocean I keep pushing forward
Hoping to see a new joy, waving from warm sand