Will you be my mommy?
I wander the streets
in a dreamlike daze.
In my hand is my umbilical cord.
It drips blood from the end and
twitches hungrily, blindly seeking
something or some-ONE
to plug into.
I see an attractive woman walking
on the side of the street. ‘nice tits’ says a voice
in my head that sounds a lot like
it’s reading from a script.
Another, softer younger voice whispers…
‘maybe SHE could be my mommy’
I pretend not to hear it and make a display of
walking over to her confidently.
David Attenborough’s distinguished voice chimes in:
‘here we see a male home sapiens, in his late thirties yet still firmly
ensconed in boyhood. Het prowls the street, ostensibly looking for a mate.
Since leaving the womb on his first day of birth, the male human
will spend the vast majority of his adult life
desperately attempting to go back.’
I look at her with a lifetime of practiced arousal.
‘I am horny’ says my adult voice.
‘I am lonely’ whispers the child voice underneath.
‘nice tits’ repeats the voice reading from the script.
I lean and seductively whisper:
‘Will you be my new mommy?’
Picks me up and puts me in a giant pram.
Now I have a new mommy.
Everything is going to be ok.
This human will be my conduit to divine
She’ll hold me and I’ll be safe.
She wheels me back to her house
where I will be cared for and nurtured.
Except…what happens when mommy and I
have a difference of opinion?
When her own wounds come into play?
When I am afraid to take risks
in case I lose her love.
I feel paralysed, frustrated, trapped, afraid.
If only someone could hold me…
Once she’s asleep, I climb out the window
and head back to the street again.
I walk along minding my own business.
‘Nice tits’ I think to myself as I see an attractive woman.
‘Maybe she could be my mommy’ whispers the child.
I pretend not to hear as I confidently walk over.