Birthing love

I was ashamed,

As it ran down my leg,

as warm as my body was so I could barely feel it,

I was ashamed.

When it met air, and I was finally aware that it was there,

I was mortified.

This symbolism of my womanhood,

This ritual tide of things leaving myself,

as nature intended,

as God spake and made it so.

Then as my stomach began to grow I was ashamed,

To fulfill the prophesy told by that coming that first time,

To fulfill what I was always meant to be,

One so young, doing something so miraculous,

and there was shame, that begat doubt, that begat fear.

That one such as me surely was unworthy,

Deserving only of the most intense suffering.

Fire engulfed me,

Quaking with the constricting of my womb,

But pain was little compared to condemnation.

As I felt life slip free of my body,

and utter his own acknowledgement into the air,

He was here, and I was lost…in him.

From the first moment meeting,

Not yet aware how fleeting,

would be his tenure in my arms.

I held a babe,

A perfect thing,

A thing warn and alive,

fragile and indestructible,

A cause for which my life I would quickly barter if needed.

No longer ashamed,

Now filled with purpose,

Driving away shame,

The day I birthed love.