for repeating routines to fade.
As does the weary woman,
her endless duties, unmade.
Of aching and bleeding,
shedding and rebuilding,
she revisits with earnest eyes,
spells of internal rewilding.
Scars of the nine months,
she remembers yet again.
For unknown last few times,
numbed tears overflow in vain...
Wind whistles his way up
through loosened cracks and folds.
to hum hieroglyphics of tiny beings,
the sacred cave still holds!
For someone who has been
profoundly deep and full,
difficult it is to accept
becoming void and null.
Empty and refill
has been whose rhythm,
being consecutively vacant,
is an out-of-character algorithm!
O woe is her weeping womb
who fears and rests her case,
of being made redundant
in her own body's workplace...
numbed tears overflow in vain...
Wind whistles his way up
through loosened cracks and folds.
to hum hieroglyphics of tiny beings,
the sacred cave still holds!
For someone who has been
profoundly deep and full,
difficult it is to accept
becoming void and null.
Empty and refill
has been whose rhythm,
being consecutively vacant,
is an out-of-character algorithm!
O woe is her weeping womb
who fears and rests her case,
of being made redundant
in her own body's workplace...
#perimenopause #menopauseanxiety #beingwoman #wombwoes
 |
| :: Looking at yourself from inside the womb! :: |
