I don't believe in sacrifice either

But I'm still thinking about redemption. Because apples and crosses, horses, stones from the sea, driftwood, and ignoring where the roots end - who knows if I can be forgiven for all that I have created.

I don't believe in sacrifice, but I birth too much, raise too many, wallow in the joy of fecundity to the pain of everyone else. Where is my mother now, to tell me how she told me not to do it. She told me not to say it, to write it, to paint it. She told me to suck my tongue hard like a lemon drop and sneer at pain. She was right. I never should have done it, except failing to create destroys. It destroyed me once; I believe in mistakes. But twice? Sacrifice?

The belly rolls fat over clothes, takes over. It yearns to produce something more, and I try pilates but will not go so far as to starve it. I do not believe in sacrifice.

I haven't been to where the roots end for 3/4 of my life. Would you say the polluted soil that grew me is only 1/8 of who I am? How would you figure it? With wings, with weather balloons, with kite string?