Caramel is lucky some say
because she is a famous singer
owns three mansions
is loved by thousands
her songs are known world-wide
She can fill a concert hall and makes millions
her mother committed suicide when she was ten
no one remembers that or thinks it is a big deal
Caramel has always wanted a baby
she has had six miscarriages
and one stillborn
but no one talks about these hardships
Caramel has been married five times
two men have left her using divorce
citing irreconcilable differences
her favorite husband died in a plane crash, age 41.
two others took a lot of her money with them
Maybe she is not as lucky as some think
I wish I was good enough to love
I wish I was good enough to be wanted
I wish I was good enough to not be broken or hurt
I wish I was good enough to not be rejected
But I’m not good enough
Not good enough to be loved and cared for,
Not good enough to not be raped,
Not good enough to not be taken,
Not good enough to live a peace full life,
Not good enough for a coffee,
Not good enough to be talked to on weekends,
Not good enough to not have miscarriages,
Not good enough to live.
Not good enough to not have cancer.
Not good enough to be loved even if I’m not family,
Not good enough to live the life I dream off.
I’m just not good enough for this life.
Thank you cancer for showing me that.
For showing me how not good enough I am,
To the ones I want to notice,
Not to even get an apology.
I will die and won’t have the apologies I have been waiting for.
I’m just not good enough.
Prayer choice or not
Miscarriage, abort heartbreak
wish-to-be babies
Prayer choice or not
Miscarriage, abort heartbreak
wish-to-be babies
She was standing by the window. I was longing to see the sunlight reflecting on her hair. But she was listening to the sound of rain. I could see her long hair. She had dark, black hair. And I was listening to the music of rain, too. I could see her, and she could not.
She was a simple and pure soul. And that is precisely all about that made her so special. She was always a pure soul. Right then, I was looking at her while she is listening to the song of the rain. I could see her as a pure soul; I do not know if she could or not. We both were listening to the song of the rain.
She could never tell why she was sad. I understood why she was grieving. She was thinking about her stillborn child. In this rude world, we tend to think about death, abortion, and miscarriages. She was one of them. I could see her, and she could not.
We both were listening to the song of the rain.
She was a BARREN woman.
A missing APERTURE in her tubes...
A missing baby in her womb.
With powerless hormones she could only pray..
Miscarriages meandered her Mother's Day.
Tracking every NUANCE of her monthly cycle..
Her tests failed the Doctor's ATTEST.
The desperate SAGA of darkness...
Her plunge of motherhood was put at rest.
In the dystopia of her impatient sorrow..
the PROCLIVITY to hide that painful shame...
mocked her deep ..down to her MARROW.
Why did God break his promise?
Couldn't He stop once..her womb from bleeding?
Her sterile days sedated her bliss.
She gathered TEMERITY to feel nothing.
Time ticked along...forcing it's power...
...........
............
There was.. grinning sounds of "Granny" all around..
Continued the void of vacuum...
The tragedy of the empty room...
Tiny hands ruptured back...
the Wound of the Woman's Womb.
Dated 21st November,2018
Submitted to the 8 Word Challenge No 9
Sponsor John Hamilton
PLACED THIRD IN CONTEST
So we meet again,
we women, who
have been scorned
by the explicit
sights of love (or
something that love
once was).
We women,
never moving,
in continuum,
sisters desecrated
and devoured by
miscarriages of hearts
and dogged days
under sulfur moons,
by the rivalry of our thighs
and limbs
entwined with
another's.
And each we say:
I beg of you,
I beg of you,
I beg to be wanted by you.
I gather around
you women,
brought here by
what was lost, and
what is now forever
sutured into our bones,
what we cannot forget
because we choose not to,
because we are comforted
and comfortable
here,
in this mess.
We women,
we find solidarity
chained in ink,
in words,
covered in
sleeves of kisses
and bruises.
And still,
I am
alone.
My wrapper loose day after day
My motion and emotion unstable
I forget to think
But I wasn’t drunk
I remember in a trance
Stable I was
My wrapper tight on my torso
Not divulging the firm breasts
I remember vividly when it began to loose
Days turned nights
The sun withheld its radiance
I mourned unending
Breasts tumor I had
Oh! The pain hurts
One more ill has befallen me
A spinster at 50
Severally dumped I was
By men on trial
The life I live was wreaked
My heart fell apart
Picking up the fossils
Amidst courage and optimism
Dreadful incidence I traversed
Since my birth, early 60’s
Aargh! I’m bigoted
But utmost myopic
I wasn’t sleeping
Merely a spinster’s vision
When at 52
Men on trial returned
I had miscarriages
Pains were inflicted
53, I would be
The wrapper has slipped off
Revealing the sagging breasts
My legacy is gone
I’ve missed my menses
I’ve wept all day
I pled against miscarriage
But all hope is not lost
Because I’m pregnant!
OMEBE RITA
Yeah,
go ahead stare at my crows feet,
I don't mind
I'm proud of them
earned every one...
broken my back
broken this
broken that
ninety proof patch
thatched hut for a heart
and broken clock soul
Yeah, crows feet, look closely,
there etched in unforgiving-unforgivable
tin miscarriages
cornucopias spilling the seeds of lust
sticky-petty jealousies on a path of forever
the broken flesh of those never born
gouging at the skin around the soul.
You on the other hand
don't have any crows feet
your pallet and brushes are clean.
haven't earned any
haven't buried what you love...
enough
given (it )all to a heart
only to retrieve (it) from the earth
to be put out of it's misery.
you haven't gotten those pixie dusted eyes broken,
but you'll catch up... some day,
its coming
way-way down the tracks...at the empty station,
where nothing breathes but crow prints
in a fragile evening mud-
HELLO SOUPER FRIENDS,
I am the proud grandma of a beautiful grandson.This makes my
7th grandchild.He was born 2-6-10.5lbs14oz,18inches.He is perfect.
It is an amazing thing watching a new life come into this world.
He is soooo cute.I am a little tired as I stayed with her last night
and spent most of the night rocking him and watching all his little
faces.I am so proud of her.She had a troubled teen life and in
and out of trouble.Now she has something to be good for.She had 2
miscarriages but now a beautiful gift from GOD.Thank you all for
your support the last couple of months.I guess I need to stick
around to watch them all grow.I am going to write a poem about
my amazing experience.As for now I need a little sleep.I will be
back in the game soon.
YOUR POET FRIEND
Colleen Marie Bono