you do not arrive perfectly packaged into this world.
you arrive bawling, bloodied, bruised, and battered
after a nine-month journey in your mummy’s tummy.
a journey that pictures the monster inside you
a journey that rips your mother apart
for you must claw your way out, and leave her to
scream for help,
gasp for air,
plead for it to end,
before you pop out,
a colored combination of pink, peach, and scarlet.
and even then, the doctors must scramble,
until you let loose a wail that convinces everyone you’re okay.
how ironic is that?
that your cries symbolize your arrival?
that your pain confirms your life?
for this day, the day of your first cry,
is celebrated until the day you die?
so, remember this every time you wonder why you must suffer:
there is no smile that comes without a touch of pain.
you would not be here without that first cry.
you would not be you
if you weren’t