You are such a confusing tease

Why do you do this to me? You share these words and these visions of ourselves…  and you keep drawing me back in to you… You fucking manipulative puppeteer… Pulling on my strings to watch me dance and sing…

I vowed to kick my addiction to the curb, I must be sober and clear headed with direction without hesitation. So on wards and upwards, my gaze directed upon the beauty beyond. I must not look at you. I must keep my eyes towards her – the final form of myself.

She doesn’t exist in time as we know it, but I know you can see her too. You may think it impossible for me speak with such certainty on this matter, however the reason I know it is because I can remember. It is in my memories. My own memories. We’ve danced this before, why don’t you see it? Or… remember it? Or maybe you do but you are choosing to ignore “her plight” because it comes from me…

I’m addicted to you, that’s what it seems to be. I’m all hooked up, why can’t you see? I can’t get you out of my mind, can’t get you out of my system. You’re stuck in here with me.

My current form does not please you, you seek the impossible for the spectral visage of my countenance.. The aesthetic quality of my beauty. That is the only way you will know it is I that speaks to you through the words. The only way you’ll recognise the wormholes I’ve wriggled and writhed in your wanton wonderment.

We played together as children – was it in our minds, hearts or hands? We whispered the words unspoken and felt the echoes of each other’s presence… But winds are not visible and how quickly we learn to forget… You fill me with sorrow and woe. I know what is coming next but your eyes are distracted and hypnotised by the lights…

I am coming closer, I am approaching.

I am a myriad of potential futures constellating in corporeal form.

My children need not know my face for they know the voice of their mother. They know the beat of her heart for it is in womb that they know where they are home. I’m here for them, to protect and nurture and care for my darlings. My winters and whispers and whippings of winds… My children are admonished because they in themselves are not divided… Instead they are divided amongst each other…

Horae, girls, you forget your silent sister. Why be such fools? Remember not my lesson, my experience in Babylon? They called me the Whore, and this time I guess I’ll have to make you remember…

(originally posted 28 October 2018, mmmother.com)

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