Motherhood, Mayhem and Mumbling
Alguem proteja
todos os anfibios do mundo
Sinto raiva dos sapos que beijei
Sinto o amargo dos que engoli
Sinto luto pela
perereca que espremi aos doze anos
na batedura da porta do banheiro rosa
Sem querer.
O amor pelos girinos que tentei
criar num pote velho de Doriana.
Lagartixas
Lagartixas e mais lagartixas.
Baratas
Besouros
Ai, que engracado, ne? Que hilario.
Nem seu melhor amigo
Nem sua mae
Nem os monstros do escuro
Nem a droga da favela
Nem o sexo do bofe
Nem o maior IBOPE
Sem o seio, nem o seio
nem o ventre
Nem as veias nem
os corneos
nem a mente
Nem as pernas a vagina
os joelhos e o ventre
Nem meus pais meus pes
meus calcanhares e alicerces
meus pulsos
meus solucos
Esquece, Esquece
Esquece.
The thing about writing on such a personal level is that it makes it near impossible to suffer with the smallest fragment of dignity. Something’s pissed you off and you do your best to keep that brave face smiling on, but the minute you find a pen in your hand or a keyboard at your fingertips it’s like all your thoughts start to race against each other to get out. Which is why I haven’t been writing much lately. I realise this is getting beyond ridiculous now, so I’m here, facing my concern that the words are going to slip and feed me to the lions. Bastard words.
One thing I think I can relate without giving too much personal stuff away is that I have suffered the misfortune of being dumped. Yes. I’ve been dumped, dumped, DUMPED. And had it been a man who dumped me, I’d probably be asking myself if my bum’s too big or my boobs are too small. Unfortunately, some deeper soul-searching is necessary at this point because I’ve been dumped by a girl. I’ve been dumped by one of my bestest, most dearest, most beloved girlfriends. OUCH.
Why? Why? Why? How long ago did she stop loving me? Should I have noticed her patience was wearing thin? Have I not been a good enough friend? Am I not cool enough, not funny enough, not loyal enough, not enough of a good listener? The pain in my heart led to Tracey Emin moments in my bed. My dearest, my beloved, my favourite fairy. Gone. Flew out of my front door, daughter in hand.
The thing about being dumped by a friend is that the ‘rebound’ technique really doesn’t work. Sympathy kinda alleviates the pain a bit, but getting a new best mate isn’t quite as easy as getting a shag. There are lots of parallels that can be drawn to the experience of losing a lover, though, and one of them is the modern mallaise of flippin’ facebook. Second to being dumped, I was erased from facebook. Ouch. But why should I care, right? How silly. But the flipside is I know who her ‘new best friend’ is, and I have the privilege of seeing the adoring messages she writes on NBF’s wall. Grrr. The anger.
A jilted friend, like a jilted lover, is prone to attacks of jealousy. And the little me, missing my friend who would call me at 3am so that I could talk her out of a panic attack feels insanely jealous of this shiny brand new girl. Doesn’t she care what I’ve been doing? Doesn’t she miss me? And like a jilted lover, I sound desperate and moany, and behind the eyes of those patting me on the back I can read the looks that tell me to move on. 
Twitterings
