Poetry & Art

dec 26th.

my mother was born on the day after christmas.
she tip toed, never one make a fuss,
as the world welcomed her with a whisper.
she’d fade into the background,
making herself a home out of it.
she even liked it there,
after a while.

but i was born on the tenth of july.
the sun kissed my cheek when we met.
bald headed and screaming.
i cried when i was hungry.
and i screamed for what i wanted.

sometimes i think,
sometimes i know,
motherhood wasn’t a song and a dance,
but a chain and a shackle.
and for that, i’m sorry.

by Alyssa Baker

Hi! My name is Alyssa. I am twenty four years old and currently living in Los Angeles. Writing is a passion of mine since I was a child. I usually write short stories (I'm a currently working on a novel) and poetry.

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