the grime of motherhood

there is no piece of me
that is mine
the tentacles of precious beings reach for me
in the day
and in the night

it is a path that i have chosen
but that does not make it any easier

as i reheat my dinner for the 18th time
and try to remember what day it is

i know tomorrow i will look around
and this tiny world will have changed

so i try and savor these gifts that God has given me
however exhausted and covered in dirt i am

underneath the grime of this phase of motherhood
is love

and it shines so brightly
i cannot see

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