My labor is met with
Shallow breaths
Pushing a figure
Not eager to budge
The push of birth
Long and belabored
In the end I am endeared
To my beloved child
Poems, as if an infant
I’m completely infatuated with
Consumed by, endeared too
Poems are a birthed as well
Protective of my creation I
Rise at once to the occasion
The poem lives on
She to is beloved
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Author:
Katie B. (
Offline) - Published: March 13th, 2026 07:02
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
Katie I have always thought of poems as an author's child and for this reason it is rude to criticize them unless invited to do so. They are part of the author and birthed through pain in the labor process. This is a lovely write and most heart felt.
May you pop out many more!
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