Between Bruises and Blooms

They don’t know
how many times
I almost gave up.

They don’t know
the battles I fought
before their eyes ever opened.

They only know
my arms are home.

My voice is comfort.

My heartbeat is familiar.

And maybe that is enough.

Maybe motherhood
was never about being perfect.

Maybe it was always about
being the person
who showed up
even with a tired heart
and shaking hands.