Lookout! I'm behind me!
I've had two major thoughts crawling among the crevices of my cortex
and I don't know what to do with them.
Firstly, MaybeDad.
It's not taking up a lot of brainpan space,
but it keeps creeping up,
creeping in,
seeping through.
After first contact with MD
I keep hearing him say,
"You'd have to be a little off-kilter not to be curious about your possible child/parent... not to want to know where you came from, or what you've made..."
That's a paraphrase... but it's close.
Ever so close.
MAYBE what is rocking my roll recently
has been the word of the week:
Comparison
I've always wondered why my paternal question mark
was never much of a big deal to me.
I've had wishes, and thoughts on the subject,
but... very little CARE.
It is what it is.
I am what I am.
I do not see how my genetic donor
changes things, now.
What's the point of a dad,
without the relationship
that holds and molds
your youthful mind?
My curiosity has been so low since childhood,
that I never contacted the man
mom consistently THOUGHT (and told me)
was my father...
and waited 5 years to contact
The Other Guy
when mom felt..... convinced
recently after reconnecting.
I'm thirty *mumble* fuckin' years old,
you know what a paternal influence can offer me now?
Medical history.
*whirls a finger*
Family history.
*whirls two fingers*
I don't expect help,
I don't expect support,
I don't expect kindness,
I don't expect affinity.
Those are bygone ways
of long gone days.
I am happy to seek knowledge,
to understand lineage...
for a lark, for a laugh,
just to know the plow that sowed me
and which mom, never bothered to bother
handling the whole hoe-down herself.
In my world, family is not a world of flesh and bone ties.
Ceara, in my head is better recognized as The Scar than "my sister",
for instance.
Just a truth.
I think I have no problem with my lack of fiery curiosity
on the subject of my conception.
Everything interesting in my life happened well after the fact.
What I've never understood was
how others burn with the idea.
They want to know.
They NEED to know.
I cash out at face value.
Family is so much more than genetic contribution,
sentimentality both priceless and worthless...
depends on who you're asking.
Me? I'm still at heart part pawnbroker.
In other comparisons:
Yo.
Sometimes I just get OVERWHELMED with the wonder
of what the fuck is it like
to be lovely
just... in general?
As I have dug into a comfortable lifestyle with Sailor
in mutually giant bowls of pasta,
I am groaning at the change.
O, lord! Why do we both cook SO GOOD?
Totin' around these tits is the pits, yo!
My ham hock riding shotgun, low
and that is besides the added pounds
that my body has always hugged.
There is a world out there
that will never be mine
because the world out there
cannot see me,
simply because there is so much of me to see.
Seeing with eyes trained to ogle smooth bodies and long limbs,
my desire is envious rather than sexual.
My envy isn't misplaced on their waists or rumps,
their legs or pert breast bumps,
but the acceptance their body engenders in others.
Whether or not the owner revels in their body,
their body IS allowed, IS appreciated, and IS welcomed
by the world around them.
Fashion is made to fit their body,
and made to torture mine.
and I don't know what to do with them.
Firstly, MaybeDad.
It's not taking up a lot of brainpan space,
but it keeps creeping up,
creeping in,
seeping through.
After first contact with MD
I keep hearing him say,
"You'd have to be a little off-kilter not to be curious about your possible child/parent... not to want to know where you came from, or what you've made..."
That's a paraphrase... but it's close.
Ever so close.
MAYBE what is rocking my roll recently
has been the word of the week:
Comparison
I've always wondered why my paternal question mark
was never much of a big deal to me.
I've had wishes, and thoughts on the subject,
but... very little CARE.
It is what it is.
I am what I am.
I do not see how my genetic donor
changes things, now.
What's the point of a dad,
without the relationship
that holds and molds
your youthful mind?
My curiosity has been so low since childhood,
that I never contacted the man
mom consistently THOUGHT (and told me)
was my father...
and waited 5 years to contact
The Other Guy
when mom felt..... convinced
recently after reconnecting.
I'm thirty *mumble* fuckin' years old,
you know what a paternal influence can offer me now?
Medical history.
*whirls a finger*
Family history.
*whirls two fingers*
I don't expect help,
I don't expect support,
I don't expect kindness,
I don't expect affinity.
Those are bygone ways
of long gone days.
I am happy to seek knowledge,
to understand lineage...
for a lark, for a laugh,
just to know the plow that sowed me
and which mom, never bothered to bother
handling the whole hoe-down herself.
In my world, family is not a world of flesh and bone ties.
Ceara, in my head is better recognized as The Scar than "my sister",
for instance.
Just a truth.
I think I have no problem with my lack of fiery curiosity
on the subject of my conception.
Everything interesting in my life happened well after the fact.
What I've never understood was
how others burn with the idea.
They want to know.
They NEED to know.
I cash out at face value.
Family is so much more than genetic contribution,
sentimentality both priceless and worthless...
depends on who you're asking.
Me? I'm still at heart part pawnbroker.
In other comparisons:
Yo.
Sometimes I just get OVERWHELMED with the wonder
of what the fuck is it like
to be lovely
just... in general?
As I have dug into a comfortable lifestyle with Sailor
in mutually giant bowls of pasta,
I am groaning at the change.
O, lord! Why do we both cook SO GOOD?
Totin' around these tits is the pits, yo!
My ham hock riding shotgun, low
and that is besides the added pounds
that my body has always hugged.
There is a world out there
that will never be mine
because the world out there
cannot see me,
simply because there is so much of me to see.
Seeing with eyes trained to ogle smooth bodies and long limbs,
my desire is envious rather than sexual.
My envy isn't misplaced on their waists or rumps,
their legs or pert breast bumps,
but the acceptance their body engenders in others.
Whether or not the owner revels in their body,
their body IS allowed, IS appreciated, and IS welcomed
by the world around them.
Fashion is made to fit their body,
and made to torture mine.