My mother carried me on her hip until I was 5 years old..
She couldn't afford a stroller, and she was scared to put me down..
Said if she put me down, I might stray off..
She enjoyed the attachment
She enjoyed the way I smelled, when I placed my head on her bosom..
She enjoyed the way it felt -- the protection, that sense of security.
My mother didn't allow me to talk to boys, until I was 18 years old..
And even still, it wouldn't be boys my age.
It'd be boys that were 5 years younger than me.
She said, I could learn from them..
They could teach me things..
They could strengthen my memory, so that I could remember when I was 13 years old..
My mother didn't allow me to think on my own, until I was 20 years old..
She said that her brain was more capable than mine..
So she held my brain hostage..
Kept it in her safe..
The one with her dildo and pictures of my Dad.