The Dying Mother

The past few months, I have only but written about preconceptions, decapitating unfavorable tendencies of women. Gathered comments and appreciation were suffice to assume that the articles were relevant and helpful. In the process, they’ve molded a face to what I thought was just a glint of my becoming– strong willed, a fighter.. one who never lusts on human emotions.. It had emptied me.. The sad reality of it all…pulled me through the restless pit with own voice unheard. This is the very reason for my social dissociation.

A friend told me that my writings appealed to certain population with specific psychosocial orientation. Astoundingly, the group is comprised by women, bisexuals, homosexuals and the object of my experimental writing–the men, who are only anxious of  posterior sentiments of their nature. This leads me to question where I belong.

My words could never amount to how I feel. Behavior or eyes could never grasp nor reflect the entirety of my being. I am me, irreconcilable to anyone’s understanding. I am a daughter begging for more years to be with her mother..I’m a mother dying from every moment lost with her child. In my sleep, I hear their pleas and prayers. God knows how I want to fulfill it. Yes, I am no superhero.. I am soiled and withered by my own weakness.  If I wanted to save the others, it brings me to who saves me.. In darkness, there’s no one but my faith..

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  1. toogoodtoobebitch

     /  May 23, 2012

    the dying mother can still be saved… if only you will find a way.. 🙂

    • faith is my only refuge now.. I have explored every windows and ways that ended up to more twists and turns.. It is time to stop and be lead.. tell me your ideas.. thanks.. 🙂

  2. “My words could never amount to how I feel. Behavior or eyes could never grasp nor reflect the entirety of my being. I am me, irreconcilable to anyone’s understanding.”

    well said. the human island of individuality strands us all.

    also, i have found that there can be great strength in accepting ones own weakness.. great comfort in understanding ones vulnerability.. great peace in embracing ones own fallibility as a human being.

    put a message in a bottle and throw it out to sea from your lonely island of individuality and i will always get it and send one back to wash up upon your lonely shore. we may both be stranded, but that which we have in common is that which bridges our respective isolation.

    • you always have a way of knowing when and how to find me.. just as I’ve written, and the way you’ve written yours, “I am you and you were me..”


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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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