To the mother in me.
You are enough.
You've spent
And spent
And spent.
You've spent in blood, in body, in soul.
You've spent in hours, in patience, in self.
You've spent in love love love and some more.
You are enough.
Enough wisterias have bloomed your thighs
Giving him breath.
Enough lilies have blushed their way to your womb
Giving him space.
Enough poppies have twisted down your spine
Giving him sight.
Enough hydrangeas have floated down your heart
Giving him love, oh so much love.
You are of so much.
Yet you cut yourself up,
Like a forgotten wedding cake -
Servings and servings and servings everywhere.
A plate to home;a plate at yours;a plate at mine;a plate outside;a plate inside;a plate to the future;a plate in the past.
You are of doll joints
Yet you've still managed to crack along the kintsugi of your limbs,
Stretching them,
Fromstoveto-babyinmyarmsto-thefanintheroomto-airingoutlaundryto-changingdiapersto-moppingfloorsto-cuttingveggetablesto-eatinginahurryto-nomoreclosedbathroomdoorsto-thedoorbellringingto-breastfeedingthecryingbabytosleepto-cleaningitallagainandagainandagaintonight.
You've mopped them tears,
You've washed them fears,
You've cooked them angers,
You also cradle the insecurity to sleep,
You also change the disorientation constantly,
You also feed the depression for another day,
You also tend to the anxiety healing it every today.
But all the while,
Pride braids it's way into your blood,
Much like happiness has become your second tongue.
Love overflows like flowers on Eden's floors,
Reflecting with sweet sweet peace ripening down your throat, pooling filling brimming your lungs.
Womanhood seeps itself across your bones,
Sparking with it cinders of kinship ruffling through your locks.
You are akin to earth and sky,
To stormy seas housing the gentlest of breeze
You are akin to Wordsworth's violet all whilst being Juliet's rose.
You are of love.
Of anger, fear and of joy.
You are all the things your son dearly loves -
Laughs, hugs and dear Mum.
©M.
©moonshine1
M