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Lexi Nov 2018
My mind is always playing games but it gets to the point where I don’t know if it’s serious or not.

Am I happy? I just laughed at something but I don’t feel happy. Am I sad? I just thought about suicide again..****. Why do I never wear the same clothes again? Why do I cut my hair so casually as if everyone gets up randomly and shaves their head.. why must I be so care free and then guarded once I have friends? Where did they go? **** I pushed them away again.. but if I try and explain what happened I’ll hate myself because I am a burden..
cassie marie Nov 2018
nine months
i cared for you
missing classes for appointments
the shame of having to tell my parents
the constant reminder that i have to do this alone

but with pain
comes beauty
knowing that i will be young
ill get to spend a long time with you
it's me and you till the end.

i had to learn to care for you and myself.
without that one word.
with four letters.
and one syllable.
would i know,
how to be a mother.
this is dedicated to my mother because why the hell not.
Imagine trying to geminate in a stony land
Aiming for the sky to be part of the constellations too
Finding a way between the stones worshiping gravity.

Imagine becoming a star, burning with curiosity,
While the gods who brought you to this world keep shooting you everywhere like a confused lightning.

Imagine your parents mapping their afterlife through your skin
Poor parents marking treasure maps to an innocent soul “KUGATA”

Imagine being taken to doors of prophets, Pastors and Sangomas,
Only to grow up hating neither.

Imagine a pregnant teenager
Who is yet to find her direction
She travelled to heaven through my eyes
(Swati word)KUGATA is a ritual used to be practiced by most South African tribes, where they cut the skin of child to protect him from evil spirit as he grows.
Sangoma is a traditional healer (Zulu/Swati word)
Kathryn Oct 2018
In a few short months you changed me
Took my world and turned it around
Everything in life seemed worth it
the moment I found out you existed
The struggles and depression
I'd go through them all again
if I knew I would hold you
Watch you sleep
Hear your laugh
I've never felt a love so deep
I'd do anything to keep you safe
Your my everything
my baby
My life
I can't explain how my life changed the moment I found out I was pregnant, or the moment I first held him
Stéphanie Aug 2018
I feel jailed in my own body
socially forced to conceive
emotionally sick
hurt within

Scared to transmit pain
in this age of depression
reminding my ancestors' culpability;
will I also hurt my descendant?

Struggling to finish a phd
in this age of precarity
thinking it might push me;
Or, will I fail it all?
Ophelia May 2018
Big belly me
With wild bubble gum fantasies
Hands stretched to dirt
And waiting
I used to get lost in shapeshifter drywall
Marker pressed to cracked paint
Crayola Picasso

Big belly me is giddy like
sidewalk chalk potions
sugar strawberries and flavored play-doe

Your tiny fingers will trace
worlds undiscovered in
sand castles
we blow to the wind

And
closets are doorways
Not sanctuary’s
Home is not whispered to
late night beanie babies
With salty eyes

It is in my arms
So long they wrap around twice
Pregnancy has been one of my greatest adventures. Breaking family cycles of abuse and addiction will be my next.
Salmabanu Hatim May 2018
Handsome, young lover
proposed, quickly she said,"Yes!"
Was three months pregnant.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
Full

again
the moon
perched
atop
a darkened
plank of cloud
floating
in iridescent
river of sky

again
the moon
pregnant
with
the sun’s
light
round full
lake of fervor

again
the moon
opalescent
in
the stars’
glimmer
silver frosted
ocean of ecstasy

again

                        the moon...
A rerun of a poem from last April - though renamed.

April’s Full Moon, the Full Pink Moon, heralds the appearance of the “moss pink,” or wild ground phlox—one of the first spring flowers. It is also known as the Sprouting Grass Moon, the Egg Moon, and the Fish Moon.
These names were not invented by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. They were used by early Colonial Americans—who learned the names from the local Native Americans; time was not recorded by using the months of the Julian or Gregorian calendar. Many tribes kept track of time by observing the seasons and lunar months, although there was much variability. The name itself usually described some activity that occurred during that time in their location.
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