Oh baby!
I'm scared.
He kickes and tumbles.
My belly grows each week.
Oh shit. Run to the bathroom.
Feel the pizza crust and stomach acid rise and bubble in my throat.
It's not the morning, but yet that's what this is, morning sickness.
The cool gel below my belly button. And a small machine that beeps in 4D. Showing the images of him growing and moving. Healthy. They say.
Fuck. It's the middle of traffic, and my bladder is going to explode. Pull over real quick. I can't unbutton and unzip fast enough. Ahhh finally the release of fluid from my body.
It's not like I can see my toes anywa- I WANT ICE CREAM AND CHEESE ITS. AND PICKLES WHIP CREAM AND HOT SAUCE!
I'm scared. What if I fail? What if I drop him? On his head? I don't want to be like my parents. But I don't know what else to go off of.
Everyone who isn't me says "oh baby!" like he's cute and lovable. Aww. But you dont know the fear. You aren't me. You're not the one growing him inside your womb. This is my baby. And I am scared.
Woman
Cracked ribs. Broken bones. Dry meaningless words.
An ocean of emotion. Is this what depression feels like?
Oh. I just assumed that this was normal life...
Feeling suffocated and drowning in a cloud of negative demons.
A sleepless slumber.
Choking on air you can't seem to breathe,
Shuddering away from a loving hand.
The quiet in the dark before the storm.
Forever lonely, yet knowing you are not alone.
But that dark place, you like it there.
It’s so familiar.
It's why you don't want to leave it behind,
In the past, where it belongs.
Walking down a well lit street, clad
In plain jeans and a t-shirt still being whistled at,
Like some plaything, or a piece of meat.
I am a face in the world with standards set by everyone else
On who I should be and what I should (or not) be doing.
like cooking, cleaning, always look presentable
Stick thin with no marks that mention my battles,
Or the body fat and purple stretches upon my skin.
Tons of make-up, a mask, to hide my unclear skin
And the pain within.
A mask. Exactly, what I show to everyone who
Isn't in my circle. Smooth, elegant, perfect skin.
Shaved legs and shaven everything else.
Depending on a man yet independent of him all at once.
But I am just me.
I am a strong warrior.
I am a woman.
Yes I feel hesitant about my self-image, but
That doesn’t make me a piece of meat that man can devour.
That does not make me anyone's plaything.
I am girly, and I like to feel pretty,
Loved,
Beautiful,
But I do not need to succumb,
I need not be in complete submission.
Because I am a woman.
I am enough.
I am woman.