Hidden from view,
Wrapped tightly in
Self-administered walls
Of id, ego and super-ego,
The tiny seed begins to grow.
Easily bruised and battered
The tender, pale sprout
Changes only marginally,
Slowly maturing.
Yet I feel its presence, its growth,
As I once sensed
The lives of children
Growing in my womb.
This, too, is our creation,
His and mine,
Yet I will be its only parent.
This will be the fruit
Of my independence.
I give it the sustenance
Of self love,
I give it the blood
Of self survival,
I give it the oxygen
Of self support.
As it grows,
Gaining strength,
I grow,
Resonating with
The awareness
Of
ME.