Motherly Hate/ Love

Two young mothers.

Nisansala broke her virginity at 25

With the man she crowned her king bee,

She took him inside her warm throbbing hive walls,

He buzzed with animal excitement,

She & he serenaded away,

Foreplayed their way

To on top, underneath, on top, underneath each other

Spinning into a new orbit above the Earth’s atmosphere.

She stained the moon yellow with her sweet sticky juices,

That’s why it’s called a honeymoon.

Nicola’s virginity was broken at 16

By the man her parents wanted as her lawful wedded,

Slicking the bedsheets crimson

As he appointed himself to missionary,

She froze in position,

He charged in with red flag waving,

She mutilated the alarm bells in her head.

Two minutes later

She raised the blood-white flag to signal surrender.

It wasn’t rape because he didn’t consent either,

Fulfilling God’s command to go forth and multiply

Is a necessary evil

– he reminds her to remind herself.

When Nisansala had her daughter

She taught her to know her place –

Not just the kitchen but the whole house,

Not just the house but the whole planet,

Not just the planet but the whole universe

– And beyond if it couldn’t house her greatness.

Her son’s masculinity was only under threat

When his classmates called him and his sister freaks.

He thought it common sense that

Girls had brains,

Boys had beauty,

Women were rational

And men were emotional!

They both had a strong drive

So Nisansala nitro fuelled their mental engines,

Smashed out red & amber so the lights would stay green

To turn misogyny into roadkill

On the race to a sexually equal future.

When Nicola looked at her daughter for the first time

She saw Genesis on replay,

A soul as crooked as a rib sending humanity straight to Hell.

She prayed for permission to sacrifice her only begotten son

So that all may be saved

Yet her Lord had said “Thou shalt not kill”

So maternity was Nicola’s cross to bear.

To other wives and mothers she was a martyr,

To her children’s emotional needs, she was just a breathing corpse.

The daughter was taught to quarantine herself from the contagion of a man’s touch

Yet submit to The Father’s will when he breached her.

Each day the son failed to find his mother’s soul

He scored a new line onto his wrists

And when there were too many failed attempts to keep score of

He thought it’s time to aim a bit higher.

aim a bit hgher

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