Becoming

I used to be
a woman who danced in mirrors,
unrushed.

Now, I hold a world smaller than my hands
but heavier than any desire.
My days stretch long and loud,
rocking, feeding, weeping
sometimes him,
sometimes me.

I miss being seen
As the woman who still lives
under these milk-stained shirts.

Then comes the guilt
for needing a reassuring hug around me
while I already hug the sweetest boy in the world.

For loving my son harder
on days I need to remind my husband
that I am not just a cradle,
but someone who needs two minutes to shower.

I build my hopes into the boy I bounce to sleep.
"This will be worth it!"
I pray this makes him kind, strong, gentle, and free.
I pray he will never doubt he is loved more than I loved being whole.

There is light in his eyes when they find me,
in his breath when it calms under my kiss on his cheek
I would break a thousand times
to build him again.

Every day i become not less of who I was,
but more of who I was meant to be.



Poetry by zana
Read 47 times
Written on 2025-07-20 at 16:00

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