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Batya May 2
though you came out of me
you really came into me
and filled me up
with your innocent love
never did my emptiness

feel so full.
robin Apr 21
empty
like a cloud
tears raining down on the people around me
i am numb
like frost bitten hands
piled under snow
alone like bitter midnight winds
with their chilly embrace
hugging you deeply.
i sleep in a pile of leaves. my bones leave their imprint
but no one can tell i was ever there
my heart is the crinkled mess of leaves at the bottom of the pile
if i told you i wanted to die would you believe me
would you be able to forgive my selfishness?
shamamama Jan 27
After the birth,
this blue I feel,
I wear it like a robe
tied around me.
its edges hang beyond
floor length
Trailing behind and around me,
Laid out for your posterity.
I touch the still moist umbilical cord
spiral it,
leave it to dry.
I want to cry when I touch it
I am becoming me again, just me.
Now there is a you and a me
I look at you little one
your perfection
Delicate fingers and toes
Pink complexion, gentle hair
I know you are a miracle,
and I cry.
Your umbilicus fell off today.
Your belly button is your own now.
I witness you unfolding into this time,
limbs filling out into every new now,
My ****** expanded for you
And now it shrinks down everyday.
My *******, a river of milk flowing
To meet your hunger,
I hold you to my heart
And I love you,
Every breath,
Every finger,
Every toe
Every look and sound you make,
Every second-- I pour forth with love for you
How will our time
Be together
Will I listen well,
Will you show me well?--
You still see
the invisible umbilicuses
tracing back through every birth to
the original Mother
To the Great Oneness
Every you, and every me
Connected to the Source
To the Breath of Life
Now---- I can see this blue I wear
As the ocean around me
And I can feel the waves
washing me, washing me, washing me.
Mother, birth, postpartum, blue, cry, Source
Panda Nov 2018
3:52 AM
Awake once again
Embracing his small, fragile frame against my own
Distracting my mind from the darkness
That worms it's way into dreams
Jess Rogers Nov 2018
She is calling for me,
She is calling for me,
The mother I wish I could be,
Her anger at the bar of her crib,
I should get up,
I need to get up,
She is calling me,
What day is it?
What day of the week?
I can’t remember,
I am so tired,
The cry’s,
She always cries,
Am I not good enough?
They say I have the baby blues,
Losing my mind is a funny thing,
I was so smart and ready,
I will get up,
I must get up,
Telling myself “I will try to be a better mom tomorrow”...
Muted Aug 2017
isn't it ironic
that a body
that was once
capable of
creating life

can also manage
to destroy it
ConnectHook Feb 2017
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─▄██▀█▌─██▄▄──▐█▀▄­─▐█▀
▐█▀▀▌───▄▀▌─▌─█─▌──▌─▌
▌▀▄─▐──▀▄─▐▄─▐▄▐▄─▐▄─▐▄
PERINATAL POETICS:
Prelude to a post-nuptial pre-partum event


What is meant
by this prenatal parental lament?
Can the Spare-a-Dime shaft
upgrade to paradigm shift
as buzzwords replace the new jargon?
If the new synthetic empathy
is merely the same old pathetic symphony,
should we put away the flow charts when the show starts
to prevent a casual view
of the visual cue?
I fear this will only occur
when fast-breeding Other
becomes breast-feeding mother
even if her man’s fertility
is eclipsed
by human futility.
▂╱▔▔╲╱▔▔▔▔╲╱▔▔╲▂
╲┈▔╲┊╭╮┈┈╭╮┊╱▔┈╱
┊▔╲╱▏┈╱▔▔╲┈▕╲╱▔┊
┊┊┊┃┈┈▏┃┃▕┈┈┃┊┊┊
┊┊┊▏╲┈╲▂▂╱┈╱▕┊┊┊
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Go to sleep, my love.
This ambulance is not for us.

Although, I suppose it could be,
Following dark impulses.

Its sirens screaming of ****,
Tearing pell-mell in a night

Not tinged by blood –
No crime committed for want or violence,

Only help arrived too late
To save us. It would go silent then,

As we have been silenced,
Locked in a terrible tableau.

You, still, curled around my heart,
Me having found for us oblivion.
I poem I wrote four years ago dealing with postpartum depression. Don't worry, nothing became of it.

— The End —