Between Bruises & Blooms

They tell me
she was overwhelmed.

As though I do not know
that word.

As though motherhood
has never found me
half-awake,
hair tangled,
house loud,
four voices
needing pieces of me
I am not sure
I still possess.

I know overwhelmed.

I have worn it
like another layer
of skin.

I have cried
where no one could see me.

Counted minutes
until bedtime.

Needed silence
so badly
it felt like hunger.

I have wondered
how one body
is supposed to become
this many homes.

But never—

never—

have I looked
at my children
and thought

someone else
should have them.

Give me exhaustion.

Give me grief.

Give me a life
split open
and bleeding.

I will crawl
through every impossible day

before I scatter
my babies
to different horizons.

Tell me
I cannot be
everything.

Fine.

I will ask for hands.

I will build
a village
from whatever remains.

I will abandon
the title,
the calling,
the expectations,

before I abandon
them.

Because motherhood
has brought me
to my knees

more times
than I can count.

But even
from my knees,

I would have stayed.