Your mother is soft tissue like rabbit ready for stew.
Your mother is murder, she just doesn’t know it yet.
Your mother is long rambling speech patterns.
Your mother is perfect oval shapes.
Your mother is god-like and fickle.
Your mother is suffering.
Your mother is seven miles uphill.
Your mother is whining.
Your mother is an imprint.
Your mother is a box of recipes.
Your mother is a cave of decisions.
Your mother is the tension in your body about to snap.
Your mother is tears on the metro.
Your mother is a bulldog.
Your mother is a neoprene jumpsuit.
Your mother is time passing.
Your mother is youth.
Your mother is just a single interpretation of reality.
Your mother is the encyclopedia britannica.
Your mother is grabbing your wrist.
Your mother is an artist.
Your mother is a forest.
Your mother is mystical and overgrown.
Your mother is everything you have ever said yes to.
Your mother is eternally telling you no.
Your mother is only good if she is dead.
Your mother is at her best in the fresh air.
Your mother is smothering you.
Your mother is going no contact.
Your mother is erasing years of your life because she was never really yours.
Your mother is a cold one in the fridge.
Your mother is prom queen.
Your mother is buying a house for 35k.
Your mother is renovating it herself.
Your mother is growing bored with material goods.
Your mother is quitting independence and choosing a man.
Your mother is googling “what does an orgasm feel like?”
Your mother is the endless array of bad decisions made in your teens.
Your mother is the reason you don’t water your plants.
Your mother is stale sweat.
Your mother is in a cult.
Your mother is a cult leader.
Your mother is your horrible middle name.
Your mother is a firefly.
Your mother is a firecracker.
Your mother is a fire drill where alphabetically you are at the end of the line.
Your mother is in love with the february fireman.
Your mother is fertile.
Your mother is asking you to make a pdf.
Your mother is also gay.
Your mother is struggling with pronouns.
Your mother is calling out sick.
Your mother is breaking a glass ceiling somewhere.
Your mother is a 1950’s grapefruit with a tiny silver spoon.
Your mother is the nice tupperware you finally buy.
Your mother is disciplined.
Your mother is never overwhelmed.
Your mother is hiding from you.
Your mother is misunderstood.
Your mother is your best friend.
Your mother is a ghost.
Your mother is her mother,
and so on and so forth.
Photo by Massimiliano Sarno on Unsplash
