motherhood,
not meant to be perfect
you brought life into my body,
stretching me into someone new.
my body learned to nurture you,
day after day,
without asking how.
love settled in slowly,
in sleepless, tender moment.
my body is different
from before you existed,
i love it even more now —
because without it,
i wouldn’t have you.
skin stretching.
milk leaking.
arms holding.
nights breaking.
love forming quietly,
in the dark,
unseen.
skin to skin
touch to love
Motherhood etches itself onto the skin —
scars of love,
curves of creation,
a body reshaped,
forever forming.
how much of a woman can you see?
how much of her can you hold?
her ability to feel pleasure,
and to birth in pain.
her exquisite ability to transform.
transform life.
transform darkness.
transform you.
just like sunlight dancing on the wall —
same time, a different shade.
same corner, a different feeling.
mother love lives
in the everyday chaos.
soon the light will fade.
soon little hands will grow.
Mother holds what no one sees.
Motherhood interrupts.
but it sharpens us,
not erases us.
images for the memories
our mothers and grandmothers never kept.
because motherhood holds more than children —
it holds stories, tender love, and unseen strength.