Sometimes I feel self-conscious about… well, lots of things. But, especially my post-baby body. Who isn’t? But, one way I cope or try to help myself is to write about it. Here is a free-verse poem I wrote related.
Stretch
No amount of coconut oil stopped you.
No amount of healthy eating.
No amount of hoping and wishing.
No amount of anxiety.
You came anyway.
You stretched.
Grew.
Spread.
Darkened.
Deepened.
Your lines were many.
Like tree branches growing in many directions.
I felt the stretching, like old elastic.
Itchy.
Twisting.
Tight.
Thank you for growing.
Thank you for stretching.
Thank you for making the room.
Thank you for my babies.
When I Quit Quitting 