For the way
I treated you
Because my skin looked and felt like your dirt.
But now I have come to see,
That I was made to be a home
For tried feet to find rest,
For flowers to stretch their arms toward the sun,
For bees to have a place to cultivate,
And for nutrients to flow from my mouth.
I do not look at my stretch marks as hideous,
But as the earth within me stretching her hands,
toward the universe,
I do not see my hair
As something to straighten or hide,
But a place
For creatures to find rest
In the crook of my curls.
My mother didn't mean to be unkind
That day when
She said that my hair looked like a birds nest,
But meant to say that I was a safe place
For my friends to entrust me with their secrets.
But, I only understood
The sacredness of my body,
When I saw that
Even Mother Earth has stretch marks.
And we love her for them.