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stolen motherhood?





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›post #15
›bio: genevieve
›perma-link
›8/4/2004
›18:50

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Accounting for Everything: Movement

A new neighbourhood. One that feels like mine but doesn't look like mine.

Familiar?

I think back to bright colours on walls and used furniture. When batik sheets and bamboo blinds were sufficient window treatments.

When men were creatures that followed me and did what I said. Skinny and short and sensitive.

When I didnt' eat meat.

When I played guitar in the bathroom cuz it sounded echo-y.

When I knew who I wanted to be when I grew up.

When I didnt' shave my legs.

When I saved up to order pizza.

When I always sat on the floor and there were candles on the tv set that dripped wax on the screen.

When I had a cat.

Now?

I have faux wood home depot blinds and muted cardamon grey in the living room.

I own a microfibre couch that was brand new when I bought it and I treat every stain that falls on it.

Men are tall and handsome and independant and can fix things. Much less obedient.

I eat meat.

My guitar sits dusty in it's case.

I am not want I wanted to be when I grew up.

I shave my legs, armpits and wax the living christ out of my bikini line.

I am saving up for a table and chairs.

I sit on my microfibre couch and I dont' light my candles (they are too expensive to replace).

My cat is dead.



Maybe life is reminding me. And it's not too late?
   


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