my mother used to say that when i had a family of my own i'd understand how she felt.

i'd understand the tears, the gray hair, the silent nights, the slamming doors, the burned food. i'd understand why she would get so upset over my Bs in math class and why she'd cry if i said i hated her. i sat in my room and whispered that i wouldn't miss her if she died, and that i certainly didn't love her the way a daughter was supposed to--in fact, when i thought of my mother i was filled with a rage almost frightening in its power. i thought she was a bitch, a whore who slept with men when she was supposed to be looking after her daughter, a woman who was more like a irresponsible roommate than a parent.

now that i'm pregnant, i know. i understand. already i tire of your tossing and turning, your impatient kicking, and i often fight the urge to grab my protruding belly and scream at you to cease your movements. i'm very aware that doing this would deem me insane and probably end up in your death, which is why i still have not done such a thing. i can feel your swelling inside of me, and i yearn for you to exit me, to become your own independant being, to grow up and become a beautiful young boy/girl. i know you will be beautiful--you will have your father's silver eyes and his delicate lips and his hair the color of caramel. whether or not i will be tying back your hair with a silk ribbon or bugging you to trim your bangs, it all depends on you.

my darling. my baby. my angel.
(my parasite)

when i lay down at night i can feel you grow inside of me. be a sunflower, baby. bright and tall and lovely.

inspired greatly by this is all: the pillow book of cordelia kenn and by a story i read called 'hey, pretty girl'.
lowercased letters are intentional, so don't yell at me for it. this is a very short story, only a few chapters long. i intend for it to be a mere side project to black&white, boys&bugs, to you from me, and of course, my pillow book. i haven't been writing as much prose as i used to, and i miss it. to get back into it, i'm writing this.