My own belly, held in my hands, soft touches and apologies, trying to make up for decades of misplaced anger, as it grows shrinks stretches aches wakes listens revels lies content.
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I wanted to be seen as a woman by everyone else, and a beautiful one at that, but referring to the aforementioned requirements, I was eventually ordered to “get the fuck out.”
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Who is she? Just a girl you knew in elementary school who has become some sort of Instagram celebrity. And for doing what, you ask? She’s just a pretty girl, and Instagram loves pretty girls.
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My mother was widely acknowledged to be both extremely intelligent and very beautiful. It was generally agreed but always unspoken that I trailed behind her in the first category, and failed completely in the second.
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