Not all mothers

You were pregnant with ambition
Before you were pregnant with us.
You could have climbed corporate towers
Putting lesser men to shame
You could have loved those who needed love
Feeding the homeless full time, or
Adopting emaciated children with beady eyes
You could have been a supermodel
Long legs, thick hair, hanging the universe in your smile
Instead you stretch your body to bursting
The scars of your battles written all over
White stripes, varicose rivers, cutting valleys into
Your motley skin like miniscule canyons.
You could have achieved wordly fame, but
Gave up your dreams to raise the wretched flesh bundles
You pushed out of yourself.
Years go by and inundate you with the mundane
You weep, you bleed, you fall into despair
You watch your offspring wean themselves of you
And eye you with the contempt innate in youth
Your ambition was your children
While they drive away to ambitions of their own

Who will then impregnate you with ambition again?

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7 thoughts on “Not all mothers

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