depression: sabrina benaim

mother

Mother,
I worship your lemon skin
The way you smile
Cheeks puffed up
And dewy
The lick of a slight
MisArrangement of teeth
The soft curl of
Tendrils upon
A perfect shell
As you utter a sentence
I'm caged
 in lesson
Despite my slight
I dare not challenge
One with sight
Mother with God self
Abundance of wealth
Knowledge is finance
Wisdom is health
For all the things
We saw
But don't hold
And what a sight they were to behold
Thank you for
The moments, the seconds, the hours,
I think I'll find out
You have super powers
My love is to infinity
And far beyond
Long after I've sung
My swan song

Mothers Melting pot: Short story

image from pinterest

My mother had the right idea about self destruction. Being a narcissist the whole world seemed to be soaked into her vigil, worshiping her timeless countenance of ill constructed self narrative. It was about her. Her dagger green eyes, the arrogant tilt of her chin, her Moccha skin and the smile with bladed dimples. Men fawned at her feet, people asked stupid questions just to ask questions in the first place and now at 33 i was still the little girl tugging at the hem of a flowing skirt. Ida Rhodes never wore trousers, they were too masculine for her. Everything had to be everything, and in her orb, the world was me as well worshiping at the foot of a goddess.  " New changes." She spoke in her clipped diction, as the car swiped sweat beads of rain in traffic. " A blue car."
"Yes mother a blue car."
" What happened to red it used to be your favourite colour?"
" I'm not sixteen anymore."
"Your hairs still red."
I bit back a rising comment, decided to toss it in as a salad.
" How's husband number three?"
" Pretty on my arm." She patted her fro with a beaming smile, " all those jealous women in the neighbourhood, you should see their crow eyes look at me," she took a gap as a memory lit across her smug expression." Island saw him, it was beautiful, that yellow street hussy,"
"She's not a street hussy." I defended. My mother had a kryptonite, it was the envy that seeped into the distant wounds of a broken heart, she never told anyone about the heart. It made her sound weak, that a man could do this to her, off all the billionaires, politicians, and trust fund teenagers she dated, someone had gotten close enough. Where there was ice, he had destroyed her. His name....father. A penniless drunk, a first love, a bruised eye, a battered lip and psychological mind games. "Has he called recently?" The silence was heavy. I clicked on the indicator, circled the car, weaving through the metropolis that had now become mothers paradise. She knew i was talking about my father. Dad rarely called me and remi apart from to open some half baked discussion about an idea, which needed funding from us. " Friday," she spoke flatly. I was ruining her groove. He was still as handsome as he was when they were teenagers, his deep voice still made her insides throb with loneliness, and whoever shared the bed, was simply shadow. My father walked directly off the page of a glossy Magazine, he modeled for Vogue once, i still remember the leopard print hat, and the hipsters. They looked ridiculous, but he looked good. The other women....always about the other women...who saw, who knew, who heard, as she clipped her arms around his lean frame there was a pride which followed her, as though she had just recieved an Mbe. "What did he say?"
" M.i.a" another flat response. " If someone loved me they'd find a way to keep him out of our lives....for good." Mother had made this request before often ignored. " He makes me feel unlovable. I touch my lips still feeling invisible stitches. " Mother pulled out a skinny Cigarette shoving it in her mouth, lighting it with a match, rather than a the lighter she knew was in the glove compartment. Her fingers trembled, she took long meditation breaths, i bit my lips angrily.
" If he's that bad you wouldn't be sleeping with him still,"
" Sleeping with him," she put a hand to her cheek, the lie apparent in her eyes
" Your so judgemental. I'm the mother. You treat me like a fucking child sometimes," she rolled down the window, letting the cold air slip in like a musk. Outside was chaos. The traffic was making my hands clammy, and the news, the good ironically great yet somehow puzzling news made me grip the steering wheel tightly. I had secret gum rolling in my tongue. Mother hated that. I took a long shallow breath, the way you would if you were preparing to autopsy a body. I could hear a funeral march band somewhere in my mind. I scanned the red dress she had clinging to her lengthy frame, her bosom bounced over it. It was 'strange' they said...neighbours, catty people, she was so beautiful, the way you'd study a painting of a woman. Look at the structures and the ink, dancing upon the page , the contrast of dark and light. My brother Remi had my fathers cleft and his immaculate looks, cocoa eyes that studied you with the intensity of a laser, voluptuos mouth, coffee meets cream skin tone, polite freckles like raisins dotting his flesh, and that mischievous smile. Remi had mothers charisma. Outside it was thick and hot, pedestrians moved with intent, in my mind i wondered about my own intentions. My stomach rotated, back flipped, i felt sick. Sick because i loved her so much, and angry because i remembered the kids at school and how we were treated because of mothers past. They'd called her the escort, the slut, the whore, it leaked into my eardrums as i slid past conversations like oil. I had hated her then, until i'd seen the cuts, heard the sobbing two o clock in the morning when i sneaked into the living room to watch recorded episodes of toon time. Yet, that part of me loathed her, for the childhood i'd missed. " Why this dress?" I gulped nervously "were going to the park."
"Your hiding something." She turned three o clock her eyes narrowed to face me, her eyes dashes now.  " Your hiding something." Another shallow breath. The air smelt like ice cream. Things had started to change for us in the early teens when mum decided to upgrade herself, dating politicians, and Olivier Craft, the business Tycoon who had made the rich list. Suddenly neighbours were leaving baskets of fruits, inviting themselves in, children were told to befriend us or sit near the Rhodes kids during all the lessons. I realised the truth was a painful thing to know. None of their daughters or sons had actually liked us, me especially, Remi was sound, he'd always been the majestic one. " I'm pregnant." The Slap was quick as a whip, i put my hand to my cheek.
"You know what mama Ashante said about your line, why would you get yourself in such a mess."  I knew what it was really about, the anger resurfaced, with more bite. " She said if you had children you'd die."
My mother leaned inwards to scan for what i knew were potential wrinkles. This wasn't about me, it was about age, and her terror of it. " Did her predictions come true?"
I nodded. " You hadn't even realized i'd put on the weight."
"Quadruplets?"
"Quintuplets." Her eyes were like fire.
"Selfish girl you're body can't take such things."
As if it was about me. " I need you to stop lying mother,"
"lying about what?!" she spat already itching to get out of my small Toyota
"Before your next line comes, tell me i need to know where my father is," i returned her loathsome gaze. " I know, i've known for a long time. Not Remi's.....MINE!!" I knew what she'd say next,
"where the fuck are my pills."

mother

The smile that carries
When days are rough
My autumn breeze
My summer song
And as you speak
A Hearst it throne
A love belongs
No secret lies
You were
Gods joyous surprise
My compass
And my bed of pearls
Rose carpets
For you
Fireflies that twinkle
Between dreams
And angels skate
To keep minds
Clean
There is no Icarus here
for you
My love
Are my only sun

Youre Not my Mother

My mother is beautiful
warm and kind
blessed in Spirit
Righteous in mind
A gem in the eye
She sparkles
For us,
and the none of us
that are those
Who try to take her place
Understand
you dont have her face
have her smile and have her touch
My mother
is far too much
A royal one
the world must see
That's why
you have
So much
Envy
This is my mother
Her home is her sight
An  immitator
has no right.

The water boy

image by destiny kiss


He was my room mate, he'd sit by the window for hours, we'd watch the boats dock on the Crystal ocean. He said they made him have imagination, he was jealous of the fish that claimed this vast ocean, and i was envious that the water captivated him so. My water boy. I smiled a wry smile, nervously twitching, with my ballet slippers clutched between my oil slick palms. He made me nervous, and excited, and anxious and scared. When he spoke in that deep baritone, it was like being dipped in a cup full of hot chocolate.
" You know i'll miss you when you leaver," I began cautiously, shyness is a poison for us secret social butterfly's.  I had many things i wanted to say, to spill, have my insides laid before him like a platter of desert dishes. " You have eyes like them," 
" Eyes like what?" He recycled back. The way the water changes, reminded me of his eyes, a continental, blue, grey. He was too tall for me, my mother said, he'd drown me in his size. I liked his scraggly brown hair and the beard that cushioned, angular, masculine, yet soft features, a mouth which begged to be kissed, and a tongue that offered the intensity of polite conversation. I hated the way his stretch jeans were quick sand in the floor, and i loved his caramel skin, it reminded me of toffee and werthers original.  Aidan Lloyd was half Asian, and the other part of him a concoction of Irish and West African decent. I found myself hypnotised,and caught in a web of romantic fantasies. " Eyes like the water you worship, changeable,"
" I'm a changeable person." He supplied, still there, my merman. I fixed the pudgy round glasses on their stand untop of my nose. " I wanted to give this to you," 
" A poem?" 
"A poem." I held it up, in my scared, teenage fingers. I had bushy brows, and teeth that had been claimed by braces. Yet i wanted him to see me, the way he worshiped the water. It was a a conversation that rotated in my mind, i studied my reflection nervously. Mother said i 'Bonnie Elena John' was too short for Aidan Lloyd. My frame should have been lengthier like the other girls in the ballet class. Mother had begged a space for me, so i could 'mix with money' and meet the Aidan Lloyds of the world. "  Do you want me to read it to you?" I quizzed nervously, my throat was stuffy with invisible foam. He nodded, i liked the way he nodded and all the little mannerisms that were his. In this room i felt as though somehow i belonged to him, and when his 6ft 6 frame walked through the front door, i felt full in his hugs. 
" a picture, you and me we could be a postcard
of words that speak,
a thousand syllable's 
and conversations that end with linked hands
I am your arm
you are my leg
we are fingers
on a piano
that begs to be played
So play the chords
and let our heart beat
with a rhythmic choir,"  i stood still waiting for his response. Watching as his eyes suddenly became engaged in the patterns on our Persian rug. A caramel hand stretched to the back of his neck, he rubbed at it, then licked a mouth which had gone dry.
" Is there a message in there somewhere?" 
I took a long swallow of breath. I should have just let him leave pack his stuff, my eyes darted to the Exit.  I could imagine clusters of girls gathering to Gossip about my near miss, the ballet class filled with the nonsense of 'another one bites the dust,' a song dedicated to each girl who had made a move on Aidan LLoyd.  " I guess i'll see you next semester," i said reaching for my friendship safety net, he looked up as if hit with an alarming recognition, 
" when it happens, no one will be singing another one bites the dust." At that he rose as the tide does, my water boy, i plunged forward eager for a kiss. 

Dating a mummy's boy

image by Miyavik


There can be great things about dating a mummy's boy, their sensitivity towards women, their understanding, but one of the main problems or key frustrations most women find. Is that a mummy's boy will always be tightly knotted to his mothers apron strings. It is impossible to disagree with his mother in anyway shape or form because you will instantly become arch enemy one. She may feel his mother is the main woman in his life, and all the decisions they make as a couple will consistently be contested by an insecure woman who doesn't want to share love, affections, or have a main role in her sons life. There is of course the competition. Not all mothers are like this. You do though come across some warped, ridiculously insecure jealous mothers, who upon thinking everything was fine when her son was simply dating you, when she senses a serious emotional connection turns 360 and becomes obsessed with trying the split the two of you up. Because simply put even if her son was the dumbest, low life in the universe, he still has enough potential to do better than you.

Here's my first tip of the day. If you can run sprint like an Olympian, if your in a wheel chair, wheel speedily away. Just joking. Every relationship needs its boundaries.

Sadly I do agree that even the scent of an over indulged mummy's boy, if it sends you running for the hills....I don't blame you. There will never be two people in your relationship, there will be 3, and you will often feel like the third wheel. Everytime there is a private debate, or fuelled discussion you will find yourself wondering which memo he's sent to his mother, wether he's sent it by pigeon or post.
That strong foundation of trust is made unsteady. Some women wonder how they ended up in a relationship with binoculars.

If you are dating a mummy's boy and it's working congratulations! You should definitely teach a seminar.