- A phrase
- September 22nd, 2008
"I want my mommy"
Sometime ago, when I was a child, it was a demand, request, a plea. The sentence meant something to others. I knew it meant the same thing to them that it meant to me.
Now crying, now wailing, the words still ring in my mind but I cannot speak it allowed because it no longer means what it once did. "I want my mommy" has become a state of being.
It no longer matters if mother is present or not, the thought still stings me.
The words have become a place in my mind made of fear and loneliness. A place where I am small and dirty, hurt, alone.
I sometimes find myself there in dreams, the full embodiment of the phrase painted out in darkness and echoes.
I don't know when this happened... the exact age or time but I do remember it being born. I remember my bicycle and I remember bleeding and tears. I remember my mother holding me and the phrase whispered out of my mouth. Safely choked in sobs it reached no one. "I want my mommy"
I do not like being an adult. My mind has become too big and I find myself constantly lost in new rooms. My old dreams are dwarfed in their once cozy homes, now vastly deep filled with unmet specters who whisper doubt and criticism into those dreams' tiny ears. My reason, a false King, has gorged himself into obesity, on what I do not know. As he stomps about, his feet pound the floor shaking the foundation of my mind. He laughs and bellows ridicule at every passing thought. My head, which used to feel so full, now feels empty... scattered and cold.
It's no wonder that phrases have ceased to be words. They feel the need to take up more space and hence become places. It is easy to imagine the words gathering up their memories, the places, the times that they were said. I can see them sewing the memories together, patch working them nothing is left but to sew themselves into the center.