The Curse of the Cozy Womb

My stomach is squished
There’s no room for food
I’m constantly fighting
A very bad mood

My face has grown jowls
My pants barely fit
No energy for standing
But it hurts when I sit

My belly keeps growing
My skin showing marks
I swear as I’m walking
I’m throwing off sparks

I keep growing outward
My back caving in
It feels like this baby
could break through my skin

I see other people
Mask their confusion
When my shirt suddenly forms
an oblong protrusion

As I laugh it off as
“she’s saying hello”
I see genuine fear
That my belly might blow.

My womb must be cozy
A place of pure joy
If only you’d learn
My ribs aren’t a toy

Nor is my bladder
Your own trampoline
Sometimes I wonder
Can a fetus be mean?

My aches and my pains
Soreness and swelling
How does this make
For your comfortable dwelling?

It does me no good
To cry or to shout
Sooner or later
You’ll have to come out

I know this discomfort
Is worth it for you,
But I promise you this –
My arms are cozy too.

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