Love That Women Could Mother

A living canvas of resilience and grace,

Endured through a landscape of trials, 

An odyssey of pain etched beyond her years.

From the childhood echoes of otherness,

To the predatory eyes of men at merely ten,

She knows the weight of being both prey and prize,

The burden of an object in someone's gaze.

The pain continues, a relentless tide,

Spilling like ketchup, igniting further anguish,

Flung in the air, then slammed into the sandy shore,

Punch after punch, saved only by chance passersby.

1, 2, 3, 4 years pass, but change eludes her,

Choked and nearly left for the cold embrace of death,

Apologies ring hollow, whispers of respite,

Eclipsed swiftly by threats and the shadow of a gun.

The dream of a tranquil haven, shattered,

By the violent hands that felled a pregnant form,

Yet the story stirs, like a hyacinth awakening,

After the bleak winter's desolate reign.

Now, she blooms, a testament to her strength,

Walking away from the crucible of abuse,

A mother of two, a soul ablaze with singularity,

Celebrating the curves of womanhood,

The essence of her femininity as her armor.

Jeni, who longs for a world where life is tenderly mothered,

Where nurturing hands could mend our fractured earth,

A poem of hope, a living testament to resilience,

This is Jeni, stepping into her feminine power and flourishing