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My being a mother My being a mother
by Katerina Charisi
2017-11-03 08:38:38
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My odd motherhood sees rain in a sunny day just to fool my kids and keep them inside. You see –lucky me, they are still young, enough young at least to believe to everything I say.

My guilt surrounds me like a thick cloud of smoke that rises all the way up to the ceiling, making the fire alarm loudly howl and the water run down to my reddened cheeks.

mother1_400My motherhood buys them useless plastic toys and teeth-spoiling sugar candies in effect to draw a smile on their face for a while and …leave me alone

For you see, they are still young; I can still buy for them happiness with just a yellow toy car and sugar sprinkled cookies.

My own childhood was a mixed chase; half of it was my mother’s lost dreams of a spectacular life that never happened; the other half, my father’s awkward standing as he had no idea what to do with a child,

For you see, they were both children and children can’t even take care of their own selves.

My mother’s voice from the past, echoes inside my head every time I step on one of the scattered toys left on the floor my kids refused to pick up. Then I watch myself as I open my mouth and yell the exact very same words she used to scream at me. I spit on my kids’ faces the deep green burning poison that first had dripped inside my soul for too long so long ago.

After all, I don’t even know what else to do with them.

Same thing as my father with me; he didn’t know either.

His massive hand slashes the air as it tries to land noisily on my left cheek. His absence always there, a square block with sharp edges; I can’t get any closer. My grandmother’s broken voice hovers in the room as she pulls my father’s sleeve: “Don’t. Don’t hit the child on the head.”

My silence hides under my bed, holding a baby blanket as their footsteps hit the cold naked floor. A chipped tooth is what I’ve been left with from my childhood. Always there, a smile, even when I don’t smile; a little pointy corner pricks my lip little by little. There’s a tiny hole inside my mouth from it. It’s rotting and stinks along with the hole in my soul.

I get my revenge poisoning my own kids’ life. Then my guilt whispers in my ear “you’ve failed them AGAIN”.

Every night I watch their pale faces while they dream of leaving me… to find their peace.

Like I did…


   
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