Mother

The urge in me to be a mother

Is strange,

Strange since it buys a pedestal

And I want to reach it

The urge in me to be a mother

Is sad

Sad since I look for a child

To be a child again

The urge in me to be a mother

Is like a lump in the throat

Forever stuck between ages

Five, ten, fifteen, and twenty-five

The urge in me to be a mother

Is impatient and selfish

Because I need to love a child

To be loved again - by whom?

The urge in me to be a mother

is a punishment and a need

It’s a burning picture of who I could be

The urge in me to be a mother

Is not joyful, it’s a replacement

Of my childhood,

it isn’t a vaginal feed or

the sexual need,

its a cry of an unborn child

The urge in me to be a mother

Is proof that I didn’t have a

MOTHER.