I was held

For nine months,

Nestled by cells, flesh

And blood. Her body was

A fierce vessel of life,

Sustaining my beating

Heart. I felt her voice,

Through her there was me.

Her womb bled,

Releasing me into a

World governed by

production.

The hole between my legs

Qualifies me to be married

By twenty-seven, one child

A year later. I must

Work until the agonies

Of labor calls me

To deliver. If I don’t,

I’m not a woman. Hand it

Over. Resign or be a

Mother.

With you who shares

The same bed, whom I’ve devoted

My life, paves a road

For a script I now caress.

When I look into your smile,

I see our children laughing,

worry, a fact unknown.

You who holds my heart and its

Dagger, merges destiny with

Desire.

And one day,

when I am round

As a plum, you, whom lay inside

May bear this load, 

That only life can reveal.

But I know, when it is time

To hold you in my arms,

there will be no greater

Fire than the one him and

I stoked.

You will reveal a world

of which is your own. And

You will be like the

Wind whistling north,

To rewrite and erase

on the walls

of which were torn. 

Able to reject without

Threats of disapprove.

But for now,

your tiny palms reach out

with the shimmering hope,

Gently dissolving a space

I once rejected.