sparkymarki
I hold onto my mom pouch,not because it makes me weak—but be..
Published: June 6th 2025, 6:26:38 pm
I hold onto my mom pouch,
not because it makes me weak—
but because it reminds me
we’ve had to build a life from bone and breath.
No deed. No front door. No picket fence.
Just heartbeat. Just hunger. Just him.
We were homeless.
But not without a home.
Because where he rests his head on me,
where his breath dances with mine—
that is our address.
Home is not a place.
It’s a person I birthed.
A soul I swore to shelter.
A star I caught in my bare hands.
So no—
I’m not ashamed of my pouch.
It’s the tent I slept in while the storm passed.
It’s the blanket he once kicked inside my womb.
It’s the proof that I was the first roof.
And still am.
