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My sweet boy was the  f i r s t  and the  l a s t,
           the one who quickly made me SMILE-
Three days holding him seemed so fast,
my BEAUTIFUL little Kyle-
      and all the while, 
taking  a w a y  was just God’s style.

He was conceived at a time of heartache,
               DEPRESSION for days and days and days…
Writing  s u i c i d e  verses down by the lake, 
thinking of reasons, thinking of ways-
      What if my husband leaves, what if he stays?
                  Minutes of WEAKNESS, living in a  h a z e.

         I knew not I was pregnant when I tried,
self-harm and pills were my DEATH; my life-
                I  c r a v e d  to run and I longed to hide,
I just couldn’t handle being a wife,
I was filled with depression and  s t r i f e, 
     and on my wrist a metal KNIFE. 

My boy was conceived in  a b u s i v e  hate, 
            by a man who spent days bruising me-
I thought a rough life was my fate, 
     my  d e s t i n y  became my insanity. 
Clothes ripped out of lust and profanity, 
I was LOST, too blind to see. 

        It was hard quitting my addiction, 
what would be my constant alleviation?
                 I lived in  r e m o r s e  and restriction, 
hoping that God’s little creation 
would be my FINAL salvation.
   I wrote  v e r s e s  of hope and inspiration.

The day he was born the angels WEPT, 
           he had a heart defect that wouldn’t heal-
For three nights I hadn’t slept, 
    could this situation be real?
Too  s t o i c  to face it, too NUMB to feel. 
                  His hair chestnut with eyes of crystal teal. 

            The night before I held him the last time,
I bargained through prayer; “God save his tiny soul”-
I wrote prayers in my journal of rhyme, 
but his  w e a k  heart had taken a toll. 
   I wanted to DIE, crawl in a hole,
I thirsted for those pills to make me  w h o l e.

          I lay three white roses at his tomb,
one for each day I spent in  l o v e-
    Remembering the feeling of him in my WOMB,
wondering if he was really up above.
Was he  f l y i n g  freely like an ivory dove?
                I wouldn’t make it when push came to shove.

The PAIN too  i n t e n s e, too deep to want to live, 
           I hurried and grabbed those pills once more-
I had no reason to go on, nothing to give,
  so, I decided to close my final door.
My life was a stage, my  d e a t h  the encore,
                 swallowing my fate, no more life of ABHOR.

                                    I slowly drifted into oblivion’s  d e a t h, 
                                    remembering Kyle during my FINAL BREATH. 





*True story about a woman who was suffered from intense addiction and was abused by her husband. She got pregnant from him raping her then the baby died because of her suicide attempt. After he died she took her life.*

Broken-Hearted Poems - Poetry Contest 
Sponsor, Broken Wings
October 13, 2017
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