Eight Months To The Day

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I wrote this poem eight months after I had a miscarriage.

Eight Months To The Day

Eight months ago to the day,
my world came crashing down.
It feels like no time has passed.
I'm still stuck in that moment,
when I realized everything was over.
All my hopes were brutally dashed,
with no warning or time to prepare.
I'm still stuck in that darkness,
it rolled over me as realization dawned.
I can't find my way to the light,
it's too hard to even try.
My whole life changed,
I'm not the girl I once was.
Now I'm that shadow,
that floats on the edge of life.
Never coming into the light,
I don't have the will.
I prefer to stay in the dark,
where my pain is hidden.
Hidden from the world,
hidden from my friends.
I even try to hide it,
from the only one who knows.
I pretend I don't feel it,
though I always will.
It's there in my mind,
always just on the edge.
I can't make it disappear,
the knowledge of my loss.
Will forever haunt me,
night and day I can't get away.
The knifing pain rips at my soul,
shredding it into tatters.
I'll never be the same,
I can't go back in time.
I'll always be the damaged one,
the broken hearted one.
The one you want to fix,
but you never will.
No one can fix me,
not even myself.
I try to heal the hole,
only to fail miserably.
I cry these tears,
without any sign of stopping.
I desperately need to control this,
I've lost all ability to function normally.
There's nothing left of the old me,
all that's here is pain.
An endless hollow feeling,
where my heart used to be.
As of this moment in time,
I surrender all thought of control.
I concede that the war has been fought,
and I have lost all battles raged.
I give up on the light,
the darkness is where I fit.
It is my home now.

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

ThatOneChick’s Poems (54)

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