This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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What little hands. Mine once were so small, grabbing and yanking At things flying by so fast. If I could not hold tightly onto anything, It would never come back. What a big heart. Mine once was that size, beating and jumping At my family who loved me, still loves me. If I could not love the blood, I would never love the strangers. For the world to be so big again, I would give anything. To fall back in time and land on blades of grass That don't hurt, but instead tickle my skin. They hug me and carry me to bed. I fall asleep and dream of things I will never recall. I wake up and do it all over again. Oh, to be that young again.
It frightens me. How much my hands reach out to catch Something falling. They jump from my heart, ripe with emotion, Trying to tread carefully. It is not my place to do so, Not sure if it ever will be. But there's an inkling of thought in me, Perhaps I could do that someday. Perhaps I might love someone enough, Just enough to bear a child. Just enough to raise it right. Just enough to die a mother. My bones are made for it, this I know. But my organs? My heart? My hands? My voice? I promise there is an anger in me, A villain on the inside who will never get it right. A fear consumes me and my being becomes Overwhelmed with stars and nature and animals, And walls and doors and cribs. Who am I to think this way? The one to give me that life, I sent him away. Not sure if I am as deserving As you. And I commend you for it. No thing or person can speak to how A mother feels. But I will still commend you. Because you will die a mother. And I will die wondering what could have been, What could still someday be, If I was not so afraid of a womanly destiny, And the men who force it to happen.
