The Other Side
By: Cry
Ever wonder...
why mom use to call you "monkey man"
as curious george is on the television?
while after time passes by, in the kitchen
you're sticky of glue with honey and...
improvising with an adolescance -
still shy of arriving to your breathless,
remarkable remembrance.
"You want some too, mommy?"
completely pure in essance...
you're careless of anger, yearning intution.
still sitting in the kitchen, all smiles...
while she's trying to be forcefully angry
but can't in your embrace. strangely.
she hugs you in spite of the glue's texture,
yet inside, feels the honey's sweetness
followed by a cheek kiss's happy gesture.
and all of this was appreciation's
whisking texture.
More than a cornerstone in life...
it's pleasure's amazement...
but not the dirty kind, you're still pure, it's
only the realest feeling of atonement.
the kind you need to own it... that moment
in time when food never tasted, but if it
was labeled sweet then that's what it was.
a time when you were faceless.
But enough of that, back to the basics...
back to the abode's room of food,
you're only two - mom and you...
not speaking of age because it's only a number
and you're blood lovers here, both smiling and
holding each other. the talk of the town -
the town being your home, while talk's played by
every opinionator who enters the house.
Reaching the point...
as a boy...
remember adolescence's peak point?
dig through memory if that's a no,
and really reach for it. before it takes
hold on a distant thought and leaves
your mind directly from the ears.
remember... mother on the floor
ravenously joyous, smiling her tears
(because if she cried them, she'd be sad)
leaving your brain jeered. expressing it
with glorious confusion and outcry...
"Mommy, why do you cry?"
feeling odd of everything taught
about these tears from her eyes.
because with its disguise it was
registered as sad, and that was B-A-D,
which connected with misbehaving.
driven crazy, you had to ask the lady.
Getting right down to it...
this might sound foolish, but a mother
is the caretaker. a heart to your soul.
she teaches what's not told
while you just listen. but this time
she listened from kitchen tiles. glue
fingers and all, she held that hand after
your questioning of water droplets.
what she did next was spoken lightly,
but still highly. her voice wasn't dry -
and she spoke it clearly...
"It's because I love you Honey...
all because I love you."
cry as she might,
love rained from her eyes.
and from then on...
you knew what it was like
to be feeling the feeling
revealed from disguise,
locked deep down...
.
.
.
inside the other side.
pz.
love your mothers.
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