the poem

so i still can't do it. this poem is crap. it's a relation to a dream i had where i thought i was pregnant. thought i gave birth, but it turned out it was all in my head. it effected me more than i would have ever imagined.


I cannot
get out
of my dream.

I stood there
proud as a
life-giver
with vivacity growing inside me
as sure as my
identity

I was ME.
a not yet ripe
but deceivingly sweet
balloon of potency

and it was JOY
that overwhelmed me as I
stepped out into the sun

mixed with FEAR
that clouded my
consciousness...

i barely heard the doctors hurried directions
barely saw their blur as they lay me down
hardly felt the hands between my legs
bracing to hold the life of my

"baby boy."

they gave me
each word
like a sleeping pill
carrying my world to darkness.

until it was
completely.
inexplicably.
dead.

my son!
my son.
MY SON!

born
completely.
inexplicably.
dead.

and I knew.
as sure as my identity,
I knew.
as sure as my existence.

I too would be victim
of a too unstable world
If I wasn't held too tightly

quote the
strait-jacket
convincing me
of my insanity

and he -
he was just an illusion
an allusion to my future life

the ripeness-
in my head.
the sweetness-
tart enough to curdle my hopes

and I woke.

woke to a fucking
april joke.

stood up and felt the blood rushing between my legs
reaffirming my emptiness.

and when I went to breathe
each breath ached with
a mother's loss
of her only child.
the pain more real,
more sure than my own existence.

could not stand the rain so I
stopped
swimming.
lay back down
only to remember
the child that should be
laying with me.

I cannot
get out
of my dream.

his nonexistence
screams inside of me.