Ripe

Oh. Motherhood has left its mark on me
stained my flesh,
rivulets marking my womb.
I don't recognize myself anymore.
I can't see what you may see when you look at me.
I am
warm
torn
ripened.
There is so much more to me.
My flesh sets on my bones.
The trappings of my experience,
life's load.
Even my arms too, are soft,
like my belly,
from yielding.