Isn’t
If I allow
myself
to lean into what
isn’t
ever
going to be,
I fumble
in the undertow
of sorrow
and become
entangled
in its murky sludge,
despondent,
passive,
like the most
vulnerable
of sea creatures.
Motherhood
isn’t
ever
going to be
the way it began
21 years ago,
it isn’t
ever
going to be
the
same.
Did I really
believe
it would
not change?
No.
I have been
liberated,
against my will,
from motherhood
with a small m
and launched
head
first
arms
outstretched
into capital M
Motherhood.
A heart
with stretch marks
on all sides
isn’t as beautiful
as one
all smooth & pure,
but it is far
more capable,
and resilient,
and alive.
I choose
scars &
open doors &
welcome mats
Over padlocks & armed guards
any day.
