PostPartum

I cannot learn to love my body.

I did such a wonderful thing, I created life.

I gave up my body, to create one.

Stretch marks that ride my body like a road map.

My stomach, an empty pouch where her heartbeat once lived.

The sleepless nights, the honest tears that flow from my eyes when I’m alone I can accept.

I can accept the bursts of anxiety.

I can accept the pain I feel in my heart that I cannot explain.

It’s all so worth it because,

I carry the weight of the world, my world being my daughter.

I live for her, my husband.

I love the attitude and the drama that resides in her tiny body.

I love the random and few gummy smiles she gives me.

I live for the endless love in her eyes.

I live for every breath she takes.

From every bad moment to the beautiful ones.

I love watching my husband be a father.

I live for them.

I love my life.

But this body, this body that she gave me I cannot accept or learn to love.