I am empty with child,
A forgotten mother,
A sad barren soul
That aches to be woman
Again with a nest gone dry
Before it was time to wean.
Too young to be the crone,
But was barely a maiden.
Two eggs half stolen
By law or sickened rights,
I hold my womb tenderly
As it once carried fragile life.
a.l.c
pouringtruth 
I clicked “like” just to let you know I’m here. Where’s the “sad” button when I need it?
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Thank you ❤️
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Me too.
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💗
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😔 An exceedingly sad write. I miscarried at least once (likely more) during the twelve years my husband and I struggled to have a child. At last, after twelve years and at the age of forty, I was miraculously able to bring our child into the world. But, I remember the sadness every month I wasn’t pregnant for all those long years. I know the broken sense of feeling not good enough, of feeling not woman enough… of thinking myself unworthy to give birth to a child. That pregnancy that got far enough for me to know I was pregnant, then to miscarry… it shattered me. I recall crushing sense that the world expected me not to mourn a miscarriage, to just move on and forget it.
Reading your poem, I mourned with you for your loss.
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Thank you for reading 💗
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