Poetry

womb man

Let me tell you a story about the womb man…
These stretch marks show my elasticity of how far I could go to accommodate life.
They are no sign of ugliness, just sheer beauty.

These hands create, they make, the mold and hold.
They are strong and gentle and they can wipe away tears.
They stop the wrong words to escape you!
They take yours to assure you that you are alive.

I am She whose voice is melody and a remedy to a wounded heart.
She whose presence is the essence of humility.
She whose breasts sustains life.
Her waist carries her body, carries babies, carries goods, carries.
Her eyes see the soul, see the wonder, see.
Her feet walk the paths not taken, walk through pains, walk through talks of inferiority, walks.

And she thinks not of herself nor succumb to being unknown.
She strives for livelihood and she becomes the moon and sun
All in one.
She becomes life.
The womb man.

So tell me, what would you take away from me?

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