Your mother is the soil, your father planted the seed.
Whether it was accidental , or on purpose, you're meant to be here.Is what I like to remind myself.
The soil that held you in a comforting place as you formed for months on end. Your mom's body was your first home; It allowed for your fingers and toes to wiggle, your voice to giggle, and your body to jiggle.
The nutrients you were given every single day, whether you rejected it or took it in, her core was where you stayed, but she felt you in her heart. She cradled the idea of you endlessly.
Once you sprouted, with your perfect little head, it was only a matter of time before people seen what was about to bloom.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Pomegranate (Original Version)
PoetryPomegranates are a diversely significant in life and fertility, and also a symbol of power. These pages are truthfully filled with heart wrenching moments that I have accumulated since I had starring perceiving the world through my own eyes . These...