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Bad Pregnancy Poetry

March 28, 2007

Inside a Mother(hood store)

It looked like she was smuggling a globe-
Like she had an entire world under her shirt,
and I was fascinated.

I wasn’t supposed to be here;
I wasn’t supposed to be trying on the robes of maternity
I wasn’t supposed to want to be here.

The thin fabric clung to her newfound curves,
As tightly and softly as a lover’s embrace
I wanted to be a part of that fabric.

I wasn’t supposed to want this
I wasn’t supposed to want the smooth touch of motherhood
I wasn’t supposed to want her

And yet, in the dressing room,
I could not help but touch
The dewy wetness collecting under the earnest bulge.

I shouldn’t be here
I shouldn’t be in this womb of maternity
I shouldn’t be comfortable here.

And yet I was comfortable
Comfortable running my hands over the rising swell of her breasts
Thick with milk and sexuality.

This couldn’t be good,
This couldn’t be sending spasms of pleasures darting around me
This couldn’t be that good.

It was that good,
When my expert hands meshed seamlessly with her aching body
Satisfying and tantalizing at once.

The woman in the slick reflective glass
She wasn’t me
She was me.

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