two whole souls
under my skin now and
I have never felt more alone
Motherhood was never going to fill in my holes. Not all the way, anyway. In fact, there are new ones everyday, sometimes soclosetogether to the old ones that I worry about complete perforation, a sinkhole of the soul, and I may fall in even deeper.
That short little poem? I don’t think I shared it with anyone. It even surprised me when I stumbled upon it this morning. Who wants to admit that the fullness you are supposed to feel when pregnant with your first child has never gotten higher than half a tank?
I remember a neighbor with two little girls stopping by my house one day when my daughter was napping. We sat on the porch, and she was all ‘isn’t this awesome?’ and before I could snap on a new filter, I said ‘no. It’s not, really.’ She didn’t visit again.
This is how it seems to go. Speak my mind, call something out, try to connect over something not-quite-rosy and find myself alone. Even if I try to keep quiet, to moderate my thoughts, or just shut the fuck up already, I can’t quite do it.
Growing is hard, but I have to hope that on the other side of this, whatever this is, will be a few choices beyond what really just boils down to one…be myself, be alone. Fit in…feel alone.