A Virgin Mother

A fragile life forms,
nestled safely within the lining
of a young woman's womb.
Away from the old-fashioned noise,
of prying eyes and obstinate minds,
already projecting unwanted advice.
Planting landmines
of self-doubt,
bashing down doors,
barging into the room,
where the mother-to-be
is down on her knees,
praying she can stay strong,
until her baby is born.
While walls of confidence
crumble, tumble, to the floor.
Months pass slowly,
labour quickly approaches.
Unforgiving voices hack away at dreams and hopes.
Voices of the people she depends upon the most.
Choices left and right,
difficult to decide.
To be sliced open layer by layer,
or push through an opening centimetres wide?
Drugged up, disorientated, unable to move,
or crying out, begging the pain to subside?
Feeling utterly alone.
Every question has ‘that’ tone.
The tone we all know.
Her biggest fear?
Answering "wrong", to what,
The "judges" want to hear.
She lies awake most nights in bed,
replaying what they’ve said,
praying she’ll be enough,
for her little legacy of love.
The birth has been and gone,
trailed by a train of expectations,
which, driving full steam ahead,
becomes, relentless. (relentless in italics)
Terrified to carry on.
Feeling everything she does,
is wrong
She questions...
“Is a mother's instinct, really that strong?”
“You don't feed your babe by breast?”
"Mummy's homemade milk, is better than the rest."
(They don't ever tell her ‘fed’ is best!)
Teething, crawling, standing, walking,
the first two years, were all survived.
She takes a breath and grits her teeth
as cyclone toddler soon arrives.
Kicking and screaming,
screeching loudly,
her child lies on a grimy shop floor.
All the while she is wishing
the ground below,
would swallow her whole.
Her own inner child wants to cry, run and hide.
Held back by the strength of a warrior inside.
Followed by the disgusted glares
from shoppers wishing she wasn’t there...
She picks up her treasure, fighting back tears,
a sweet sting of relief as the exit nears,
A slap of fresh air connects with her face,
a hit of realisation.
She tightens her embrace.
Instead of the usual question of why,
she wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt,
Dusts off her crown, leaves her tears in the dirt.
Looks down at the smile and the bright blue eyes
and instead of asking the heavens,
She asks herself Why,
Why didn’t I see? The only voice, I ever needed to listen to...
Was me.