Purposeless-ness

I don't belong anywhere
Just now
Not here in the kitchen
Sitting at the island
Tapping at the keyboard.

I don't belong upstairs
Because there is nothing to do
And so. much. of my life is filled with empty places
Where there is so much I want to do
And nothing I can do.
Not in that moment of nothingness because
If I practice or write or change or move I will be interrupted

Like now

I'm trying to write poetry because I no longer felt comfortable sitting next to you
But I'm not allowed to do that
No
You have to ask me questions
Even though you said
this must be boring for me
And you usually do this yourself

I don't understand that
Because maybe there are times that I just don't know exist
But I think about all the times I've sat next to you and now when I'm silent I must be bored because I'm choosing to be quiet
I do not have words to last endlessly through the day
to parcel out all through the night
To entertain everyone
Sometimes someone else needs to take over
I can't be in charge of all of the words all of the time
I need you to take some of that pressure away from me
Don't you know what it's like to sit in the house all day while it's raining and feel like the whole of your purpose is in cleaning the gritty grease off the stove-top and that is the most important significant thing about your day and you know that's sad and you desperately want to change it but you can't without giving up yet another part of yourself
The thing you spend your money on
$200
$200
$200

How many other things could we do with $200

But somehow giving that up feels like giving up the air I'm breathing because if I don't spend that money every month and go to that class what will I be but a dried up no good nothing stay-at-home-mother who knows no one who does nothing significant - stop telling me mothering is significant because maybe it is but no one talks about anyone's mother - they only talk about them. You don't get to be a famous mother you get to have a famous child but you are still no one.  You are still a Shadow Person - that is all you will ever be: short order cook, house maid, taxi-drive: Mother.  It is not a glorious profession.  It drains you until there is nothing left but a worn out wilted has been flower.  The good years lost while you sat and pondered who you even were anymore and when you came out on the other side

You didn't fucking know.