Back to the Womb

I asked you what you had wanted to be when you were a child dreaming of all the mystery that life had in store. Doctor? Actress? Mother? A stewardess, you replied and I wanted you to be a stewardess too. Flying high, wearing a pressed uniformed, coifed hair, and shiny black shoes, this could have been you. But you were grounded by a child, by me, and all those dreams nosedived and were obliterated. You know, I used to wish I was Native American. I could be part of that great struggle for freedom, but I’ll never be free from knowing held you back. Now I am all grown up and I’m no longer fooled that everything is fine, that you are fine. I see that this would all be easier if I started shrinking. First my hands and feet and then I start to get shorter and shorter. My clothes start pooling all around me. I can no longer stand and I plop down and I can’t remember who I am. I shrink to the size of a period. Then, poof. You can let go now.

artwork courtesy:


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