In Search of the Perfect Womb

I’d been searching, searching, searching
for some ephemeral something that could not quite 
formulate properly along my tongue into 
quite the right sentence

so I clicked my teeth together and popped my lips 
until I finally found a word: God (my first one) 
and I planted it 
a seed in a dark and lushy patch of dirt
so it would grow and grow and grow into a behemoth 
I wanted to melt into this mold
birth a new existence, a new heart, new eyes
but the longer I stayed 
I realized: 
I’d chosen the wrong God

so I parted my legs instead, loosened the buttons on my shirts 
offered to unzip anything that could
form sensations of colors and vibrations and unlockings 
I so desperately needed
but I could only feel their weight with my eyes closed tight 
(only slightly similar to those weights I couldn’t name) 
I closed my eyes for too long, and the
colors of pleasure transmogrified into nightmarish shadows 
weights once welcomed in my bed grew too heavy
felt too much like the ones I silently suffered beneath
in my childhood bedroom 
I realized: 
I’d chosen the wrong Love

so I jumped on a plane and left God
sold the weights on my bed to the first person willing 
to dole out the cash, I turned my gaze to 
flowers and water, birds flying across lengths of sunsets 
I set my feet to walking towards the finish lines 
of every horizon, marveled at life in full bloom 
and I collected a beautiful well of tears for 
the birthing all around me 
but the tears soured, my smile faded
I slunk back into four steel walls 
(I thought I’d left those back home) 
and those gorgeous birthings of life 
no longer felt real, they were no longer enough 
I realized: 
I’d chosen the wrong Mother

all this time, searching, searching, searching 
I was looking for a womb to crawl into
and all the choosing I’d done couldn’t fold me in 
because they would never be her
so perhaps I should build instead 
stop searching (or even choosing)—just be 
there are no wombs like the one I crawled out of 

because 

there is nothing to go back to
there is nothing left to  
search for in all the wrong ways