From my throat comes no sound
my legs and feet are tight-bound in stocks,
Dry mouth, on the edge of a dream
I am living the dream, dying to scream
but my brain says, “No!”
I envision a scary future
on the other side, sutures needed;
Discovery, close enough to touch.
Close enough to touch, to cradle, to clutch
to comfort my racing heart.
Panting, swimming upsteam
just ankle deep. I’m brimming in water.
Dripping in sweat, I cannot see.
I cannot see because the dream in me
brings tears, tears which come and go.
When I’m finally free,
I trade screams for a plea of relief,
"A dream come true, perfect and fine
Far more than perfect, he’s mine.”
Motherhood is a work of art.
October 8, 2019
Categories:
upsteam, 11th grade, art, baby,
Form: Rhyme