stretch marks - a poem
stretch marks - a poem
Turning my pregnancy and stretch marks into a poem
my skin,
once the smooth page of a love poem,
now holds
parentheses in purple,
little commas across my belly,
a cruel edit
by the universe.
everyone warned me
about cravings,
cramps,
and unsolicited aunties with advice.
no one mentioned,
how i’d watch my body rearrange itself
like a couch no longer centered
in the living room.
they’re not “tiger stripes,”
please.
i’m not at war.
i’m just
becoming
something bigger
(literally, emotionally, hormonally).
these marks?
they itch like a bad punchline—
but damn if they aren’t
also a reminder
that my body,
built a heartbeat.
and for that,
i’ll wear them like
jewelry only i can see.
like stars across a sky
that stretched
to hold a whole new world.
