The Skin I Leave Behind

A poem about my second trimester with you; the physical changes I noticed and the inner emotions I held as I evolved.

One chapter closes,

three months marking the first phase—

a seed planted, taking root.

As we bloom into what comes next,

I begin to peel in quiet surrender,

as if each flake of skin knows

it is no longer mine to keep.

In my planted season,

I was nestled in familiar skin,

a reflection I had known

for twenty-five years.

But now, the mirror tells a different story.

Stretch marks etch themselves in hidden places,

writing new chapters upon my breasts.

My skin is uncertain—

my face glows with something sacred,

yet my neck darkens, shadowed by change.

I am shedding,

not just my skin, but a version of myself,

exchanging one form for another,

a quiet metamorphosis.

My lower back aches

beneath the weight of generations,

muscles straining

beneath the task of creation.

I feel subtle flutters,

soft whispers from within—

is it you, or my body

voicing its quiet hunger?

This body is no longer my own.

The skin I leave behind

is not a loss, but an offering—

proof that I existed,

that I evolved,

that I became.

Ways To Stay Connected!

Thank you for reading this poem and I hope you enjoyed it! This series can be enjoyed on my blog. You can also enjoy me reading these poems on my Instagram, Facebook, and Podcast, where I allow my listeners to hear the emotions behind the words.

Stay tuned for my next poem in this series releasing next Thursday!

I can’t wait to share it with you.

I Would Love To Hear From You!

If this poem resonated with any part of your motherhood journey, I would love to know how! Connect me on my Facebook Group: Go-Get.Hers and share a piece of your story.

Until next time,

The Mom Memory Keeper

“Preserving motherhood journeys for generations.”