deepundergroundpoetry.com
Birth of a mother
My womb is not a temple I let you enter , to piss on the walls.
My mother hood is not a bag that you throw at me , saying here , handle all my mother's years of hard work.
My labour is not a doorstep , that you wipe your feet.
My mask is not yours to rip apart and demand art.
My womb is a temple of love , I invite you to paint these walls bright.
My motherhood is years of learning , an learning yet to come.
My labour is sacrifice , every single time.
My mask is my beauty , when hiding so much pain.
My mother hood is not a bag that you throw at me , saying here , handle all my mother's years of hard work.
My labour is not a doorstep , that you wipe your feet.
My mask is not yours to rip apart and demand art.
My womb is a temple of love , I invite you to paint these walls bright.
My motherhood is years of learning , an learning yet to come.
My labour is sacrifice , every single time.
My mask is my beauty , when hiding so much pain.
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