His Mother
You liked me at first.
Before I tried to leave.
Before I proved I was the worst
with shit up my sleeve.
You hated me
for my postpartum depression.
Longing to be free
was my confession.
You were bossy and militaristic
with us because we’re a young boy and girl.
We’ve now become a statistic
of an impulsive mind swirl.
We were inexperienced, true.
We did need some help.
He introduced me to you
and you gave out a yelp.
I knew your first impression
of me was that you weren’t sure.
Were we just in an obsession?
Or were we mature?
I really don’t blame you
for being cautious.
Just don’t be too
much, or we’ll get nauseous.
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