Parenthood,
a paradoxical fantasia.
No Ozzie and Harriet existence.
Forget Cosby cliches.
Textbook definitions also amiss.
No analysis please.
I don’t want any “Mother of the Year” award.
Hell it won’t
pay bills,
buy food,
clothe no one,
nor alleviate stress.
What I want to do,
and suppose to do
are siblings but not twins.
Lessons of independence
were taught before dawn.
My girl made her bed at five years old,
woke up by her alarm clock at 6 AM,
fixed her morning cereal at seven years old.
Sounds mother selfish?
I don’t think so.
Rejuvenation is a must.
Patty cake,
patty cake,
ain’t got no man.
Cry baby,
cry baby,
Naw, I am doing the best I can.
Sardonic wit,
helps me laugh around the tears,
and unforeseen confidence shakers.
I am a novice with wings of audacity
learning and teaching simultaneously my child.
Sharing iron-coated marshmallow love.
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