Household-locked
When I was nearing the end
of my twenties,
I had burned up and out
of all sentiments
attempting to keep me
locked up in my house
like an island of domestic labor
surrounded by decaying toxic behaviors and beliefs.
I was more than a mother and it was time the world recognized!
Like any twenty-something I romanticized and fantasized all the things I had yet to do and I was going to do them with my three kids.
And like any twenty-something I had so much learning to do — the subsequent pain, challenges, adversity, and growth were waiting on my new doorstep ready to pounce and pummel.
If you look back at my thirties, mapped them out in graphic illustration, they would look like busted up concrete with flora, fauna, and plant life growing in the diagonal seams but also dead roots. A patchwork-ed concrete quilt of dead ends and new beginnings.
When I was nearing the end
of my thirties,
I had made strides —
no longer confined to a house
but flourishing
from a home.
Where I was given reign
to labor inside and outside
or not labor at all.
