I write about the womb a lot, I don’t recall it, so I try to
wrap my hands around its circumference.
I try to enjoy its claustrophobic goo. It is why I rarely enjoy elevators
and why standing too close to anyone has brought more melancholy than joy.
In crowded places spread out, I am a particle of the great DNA. I am nothing, I like it there.
My privilege to be able to feel and exercise the need for loneliness.
The privilege of being a mother without the contractions and a lover without the commitment.
Angry mind child deserves all the accolades, hyper sedated woman enjoys
the eventual promise of sleep and the temporary hug of a strong drink.
Enjoy every step out of yourself, and march upright on your way back.
I want to elaborate on all the things that don’t make sense, on all the evaporated thoughts
I wrote somewhere at some point. But nothing is worth remembering if you can’t stop drowning on land.