Poem 99

Anxiety grips like I’m caught in a vice

Unsure how to question what is on my mind

Balancing desires to understand

With fear of rejection at your hand

Longing to know what you truly feel

When the chemicals take over and change what is real

In my head ; how my mind tells me you see me

That I’m not worth the time. I’m like an acne.

Always there but never desired

A constant presence leaving you mired

Tarnishing you with unwanted reminders

That I’m always there, even when quiet.

Anxiety grips and all I can see

Is that I, am not, worthy.

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Poem 96

Who are we to say

What’s right or wrong for you, anyway?

Your choices, your values, your way of thinking:

A unique perspective, worth revealing.

Pain and heartache, laughter and joy,

Equal opportunities for you to employ

Your own opinion, your specialist view;

It’s not what they think but it can still be true.

So don’t doubt your spark

For sometimes it can be

The thing that ignites

Someone else to be free.

Poem 92

The final days
As they draw near
Allow for reflections
To become much more clear.
Visions and actions
Embracing the change
New adventures to begin
Extending my range
Of skills and knowledge,
Applying my thoughts
Tacking challenges
And beating the odds
A story never ends
If it holds on to a part
Of your identity and self,
And your heart.

Poem 88

You give me guidance

You give me light

You show me how

To fight my fight.

You make me feel

So big and tall

Like I can

Conquer it all.

You don’t see yourself

How I see you

My saviour, my friend

Helping see me through

The darkness that engulfs

Enclosing my mind:

Your love is a love

That will help me survive.

Poem 87

My knees have buckled from underneath
News of happiness breaks me in uneven two
Joy of the future for my family
Pain for the indirect child
Not born to me, although to be mine by God.
Contradictions in my mind
Positive sadness for the coming tide
I’m broken, that’s all, simple as.
My grief still yields a wealthy purse
Its strings still hanging over me by a thread
Alternating between weak and strong
The unspoken feeling of loss still dictates my every move.
One day, I hope, they be born of me,
As well as of you.

Poem 84

A broken face

Once full of dreams

Glints with memories of what could have been

If futures had altered

And paths foreseen

The shadows of the world, within.

I see the path

That calls to you

Whispering and dragging, pulling you to

The way that life

Is meant to be lived

Full of smiles, truths, and wonderment.

I beckon you

One day to see

What you deserve; you deserve to be free.

Reflections: who I was and who I am.

Over the last week I have opened up truths about the last year to a new friend. It wasn’t painful to be honest for once, it was refreshing. But something was painful.

I decided to write a short play for an event, which I did. Then I thought I should get back to the play I started writing last year. I found it and read through it again to remind myself where I needed to write more. That’s when it got painful. I threw my soul into those words and they bit me. I felt melancholy and close to tears the rest of the day, only feeling better when meeting the earlier mentioned friend.

Yesterday, I played the song I wrote almost a year ago which defines the miscarriage for me. I’ve played it a number of times but, this time, I started crying. Maybe it is just tiredness or maybe everything is feeling raw at the moment.

My husband thinks that it is the time of year. It is a year since I started writing again and I started learning to recover. Looking back on who I was then is like looking at a different person most of time time. I can sometimes see that anger though, glinting back up. I walk with my nephew and people smile at me. I don’t have that in the rest of my life.

Being a mother changes the way the world views you. Being a mother without a child changes the way you view the world.

Poem 82

The hardest thing

Is when people don’t know.

Comments pass by

Each one a blow.

The missing mention

About motherhood

All because

Life was not good.

The jealous pangs

When people talk about

The laughter and smiles

Before forced to shout

At their beautiful gift

Present and true.

But I lost my gift.

I lost you.

Poem 77

One year ago

The heartbeat stopped

The screen stayed monotone

You were gone.

It stopped before

I heard it beat,

I heard it echo,

Dead, not asleep.

You were gone before

That dreadful day

The day my life changed

My faith went astray.

One year ago

How can it be

That time has passed without

You, already?

Forever here

In my senses you’ll be

My otherworldly child

In my company.

Poem 73

It’s tiring
Pretending to be strong
My facade is effective
While the inside crumbles.
It’s hard to admit
The unwilling wallowing within
I can’t be the me
That I used to be.
Imbalanced and confused
No easy way to define
The feelings that
Overwhelm – pride.
I can’t admit
For the world to see
All my struggles are there
If you look closely.
See the hollow eye
Now devoid of its smile
It occasionally fills but
Is it a lie?
There once was a smile
For the world to see
You still see that facade
But there is no more me.