mMY lLIFE

tongue rancid with complaint

heart lost 

and begging 

to be found 

-that childhood longing to be found- 

sought out, reclaimed, searched-for-kind-of-found

(my daughter's favorite game at the moment, to lose and find

her fingers, toes, macaroni, mama, bear...)

and all i can think of amidst the externalised bitching is:

inside i feel empty and exhausted and irate 

and i never thought i would be a mother like this

and where did all those years of practicing self-love and acceptance go?

and where do i hide my vulnerability over and over again? 

and why do i start complaining now (literally) about spilled milk?

and in whose book did i play the heroine or master or slave?

and i can't believe that i become so hopelessly paralized by so many things in my life

and i used to enjoy a cigarette or 2 and now i wonder if i'm Attached 

and when will i finally grow up? and beauty is truly

in the eyes of the beholder 

and the feeling of exuberance WITH all the sliminess of life 

is something i long for more of