I WILL NEVER BE A MOTHER AGAIN - a poem from 2008
Here’s a poem I had published in a literary quarterly way, way, way back in the day when writing was more my focus. The background for this piece is that I had recently been dumped by a musician (insert: Rockstar) who I had been terribly head over heals for, and thus completely blind to the fact that I had been acting as less his lover and more his mother. (He had much more insight than I into the fact that we were terrible for one another.)
At that time in my life, I was caring for what felt like an entire hoard of mentally ill friends and lovers. Finally I cracked, and my own mental health went down the drain, along with my work ethic and motivation. I decided to stop caring for others entirely, and instead try to suss out what the devil I wanted to do with my life. In true emotional, drama-rama style, I wrote a poem about it. In the end it worked out, however, because I scored a few gigs for the quarterly, as they ended up using my photographs for their covers on numerous occasions after they had published my writing.
So, in the end, thank you Mr Rockstar. You got me into my own game. I owe you!
I WILL NEVER BE A MOTHER AGAIN - JJ Steeves
We do this little ditty
in the room with the least privacy
urging the whole world of no one
to interpret what we say when
eyes drip and drop to sleep
and nose hairs rattle snake shake
no i don’t trust you but that’s not your fault
track records be damned, i seek bravery in the face of a scary duo
gently held for a time, in confidence and organic order
moments like these are the icons of life
the slathering of stimuli, mixed amongst debris and other such
little things to collect, like stamps, or china cups
but sitting in my kitchen, hunting floor tiles
your longer legs twined in mine,
tall above me, watching my synapses fire
in brain matter mostly moist
evincing nothing because
(to be frank) you’re no magician
and what you want is to hold my hand and be sung
sweet little diddies to help you sleep soundly and
digest daintily the atrocious actions of days gone by
as though i could write cheesy and epiphantic lines
like bobby dylan riddles, humble and wrecked
but past and proven, just for you
i will never be a mother again
not for you not for her not for him not for no one.
