This is actually an old poem that I written two years ago. I come in terms of my after baby body now but back then it was a hard pill to swallow. Poetry vibe tonight.
I’m sad that she’s gone away.
I’m looking at my reflection in the mirror.
Missing the woman I once was,
knowing in my heart I can never revive her again.
I can’t see any trace of her.
I can’t remember what she used to be.
All I see is the resurrected me.
to my baby
who hurtled his way through
my birth canal
causing such a rumble.
Tearing and ripping my vagina
and it started to crumble.
From the force of the contractions,
his wide head and shoulders,
causing my vagina to have a third degree
My vagina was sore, torn, and in excruciating pain.
I was depressed and going insane.
I accepted her fate in vain.
I buried my former self that day.
Surrendering the woman I used to be.
Look at my stretch marks,
my milk filled breast
lowered below my chest.
My body looked a total mess.
When I buried my former self
she was slim, perky breasted, and had a gorgeous figure.
But my new body was weak and disfigured.
It took four weeks to walk without any pain.
Five months it took the episiotomy to heal.
I was not thrilled,
of the toll birthing a baby put on my body, mind,
I have to face the fact that I am no longer her anymore.
Bold, sexy, and beautiful,
courageous, independent, and flourishing,
has now transformed into this scared, lonely, fearful,
vulnerable, unattractive, pouch belly of a being.
Please tell me where I can find the way to reincarnate
the woman I used to be.
Help me dig her out of the depths of my memory!
I’m mourning the old me.
I visit her in pictures mostly,
Visit her vaguely in memory,
Sometimes I talk about my visits with her to others in passing.
But eventually visiting time ends and my memories fade,
and I see the new woman in the mirror who took her place.
Will I ever get rid of this misery?
And come to terms with woman that I now claim to be?
How can having a baby make me feel so much vulnerability?
I miss the woman I used to be.
Buried in the depths of my memory.
Mourning the old me.