at nineteen
my mother held her swollen belly
and God blessed her hands,
His power emanating through the thin barrier
that separated the three of us
her hands chose life
as a little girl I was always obsessed
with Mommy's hands
how soft and delicate they were in my tiny palms
I always wanted to feel her warmth
that I could feel came from a higher power
with those hands
we were never without
and we were able to be
my heart has stopped racing
breathing now requires little effort again
and my chest no longer has that throbbing ache
hugs don't hurt anymore
especially when it's his arms that are around me
I even find myself drawing more and more into his warmth
while before I couldn't bear another's touch
no matter the sincerity behind it
I used to believe that falling in love created such a thrill
that it hurt so good
an earthquake that tore through your heart
shattering everything negative
thunder rolling through the hills
shaking trees to their core
such destruction was a beautiful mess
but I've realized that this kind of falling in love
only leaves nasty scars
and have learned to turn my mistakes into art
so when people ask about them
I call them tattoos
this was how I thought I was in love with someone
you let them tear through your heart and they leave behind tattoos
but this time my heart isn't experiencing such turbulence
is this wrong?
do I not love him?
but it's moments like when I am curled up next to him
my face buried deep into the crook of his neck
his arms draped over me like a blanket over a sleeping child
or when we're asleep and he pulls me into him
such a calmness melts inside of me
this is a different kind of love.
