teenageparenting
Learn more about other poetry terms
Her belly grows and grows,
but nobody knows.
Sweatshirts are too small,
the inevitable becomes
apparent.
Waddles through hallways,
up flights of stairs,
back aches.
Hands are beautiful...
They touch and caress.
They love and hold.
They grasp a hand and hold it firmly to ensure.
They touch a face sweetly and move the cascading hair gently from a face and ensure something.
Four childish eyes
Looking at their own child
Eight hands kept the baby standing
Wrinkly hands against smooth skin
Loved by six people
Raised by six parents
Two created her