Three months in the clinic, one should be ready. I look down on you, one more escapade, to go down on you, and sharpen the blade. br [I did not know my nails would have grown so strong]. br I grab you -both hands- to feel the skin and fatty, pillow-like juice. I shake you and I pull you out -you nasty rubber- you pull back in. How much bigger can you get? I inhale too deeply for my strength -anymore- and push the air to swell you, happy moments for my kids, indeed. Magnificent, so many years’ confusion. I do not know how the struggles have gotten me here, the struggles of too little food, or the struggles of too many a food. br The fool inside you, is he still there? Memory of a lifetime gulping, shame, retreat. I soothe the grabbing, squeeze a strange spot in a wrinkle and cuddle the umbilical cord. br [I did not know my nails could have grown so big] br I am so sorry to start squeezing you, tummy, all over again. Does my dance stumble -on stone abdominals, on bones, on very full guts? - do not ask me, br [you should know better] br Why don’t you have a mouth on your own? Well, I guess I won’t stand in front of the wall mirror this time, I’ll just grasp the hand one not to feel you mine just as once. Get a mirror on your own, so many actions you do take despite me. br I am so sorry; a tearing would never have crossed my mind -not uncontrolled- br But look at you, (my soul is flying already) smiling at last, silent all these years, so many years struggle I, idle you.