Two quick poems about motherhood.


How much can I give

How much do I want to give 

I give my body all the time

I give it to others 

I never have it for myself

I’ve never had it for myself 

After birthing my son

I recognised that I had always given my body away

I never cherished it myself 

He was a product of my body being given 

And in return I’m gifted a human

Despite this bittersweet exchange

I still must give away, everything I am

The physical is a product of spiritual 

And so even my soul is parted with

The experience of motherhood is showing me 

That women are always fighting to own their bodies

From girlhood 

We are always in some battle to protect, maintain and enjoy our agency 

It’s always being removed from us

As if destiny ensured women would not be their own 

And history cemented this into truth 

No longer invisible firmament 

Men bestowed ‘honour’ to bring it to Earth

And now I wonder if I’m born a slave

And now I wonder if I’m ever going to be mine 




I used to think my breasts were too small

I’d hide them in baggy attire

And assume more masculine behaviour 

To show the boys if they didn’t think I was attractive or feminine

That was absolutely fine 

Because I was like a boy myself – I didn’t need their approval 

But as time went on, 

I realised I still wanted to feel feminine

And I wanted to be seen as feminine 

So my breasts were symbolic of this 

And I let them out more

Now my breasts are too big 

And I’d hidden them away

Big, voluptuous milk-filled breasts

That would be the dream of a man with an Oedipal complex 

I was too feminine, too woman and even I, being woman, couldn’t handle it 

But one day I realised that these breasts were mine

These breasts are symbols of softness, pleasure, warmth, seduction, comfort and purposed 

To even sustain life 

So it no longer matters what anyone, even I, should think of my breasts.



Poem 4.


I run my fingertips across

and the

makes my flesh pads expand