The Momager

When I was younger, my mom and I would write songs together
I’d knock at the bathroom door with a beat as fresh as the scent of her curls as she stepped out of the shower
A beat that would accompany the humming of her hair dryer
Morning interactions they were purely instrumental
We then each take our solos for the day and I know it is evening when my mother comes in and takes it home a few bars later
Pots and pans and the stomping of feet bang and clang rhythmically in the kitchen with great passion and I find myself dancing around the living room knowing that every passionate slam was written just for me
Most of our songs were instrumentals but one can’t forget that my mother was quite the lyricist
Did I mention a choreographer too?
Her first work was so good she never had to write anything new
Every time I gave her the cue she would perform the same song and dance about how she’d love to spend time with me but time is a currency and one that she cannot afford
Bordered by repeat signs
I heard it so many times that I didn’t need the music to her melody anymore
There were times where I’d try to harmonize but it ended in cacophony
At least we looked pretty on stage
Come Christmas time, her favorite song was All I Want for Christmas is you and when I sang that to her at age nineteen I realized that it was a mistake and rather than the song it was my mouth I should’ve covered
I tried my best to go back to our original song but my mind was on shuffle
Not to mention we had taken too many measures by then
Both of us had crossed too many lines and our song had to end
The song that lacked expression on my part anyways because time truly is a currency and she was someone I sold myself out for
I didn’t think that this was in the contract that we had signed in blood years prior but we had signed it at the time before I learned to read between the lines
Looking at it years later I see the writing was thick as our double bar line
Sure, I get that it’s just business now
But I didn’t learn until after I went broke