No one can glance her crying

No one can wipe her tears

She screams quietly in the dark

with no one to hear her fears

No one can pick her up

No one can gently set her down

She sits there in the shadows

with no one to fix her crown

No one can ever know

No one can ever see

She keeps her lips quaintly pressed

with no one to judge her plea

No one can hug her tight

No one can clean her mind

She will forever hold this weight

with no one to take and bind

Someday this load will lessen

Someday she will be free

But for now

here she frays

with no one

No one to see.

Standing in the shower while the red runs down the drain

I never got to meet you, I don’t even know your name

I’ll never hear you laugh or cry or hold your little hand

You’ll stay this small and stay this still, and you may be buried in the sand

They’ll pat my back and say I’m fine, but you will never be

I’ll never hear your happy coos or witness when you see, all the things you couldn’t when I held you in, so close to me

My heart feels like a weight is there, I can’t make it calm or leave, I can’t seem to stop missing your tiny love no matter the words they speak

All the firsts and all the lasts -withering like dew, oh my precious little one I wish we could keep holding on, I wish we could keep holding on to you

Anger comes and anger goes, it’s mourning now that plays, I don’t understand why you chose the path that would make us part our ways

But there you slip and there you creep, you’re going far away, as I watch all that sustained you now forbidding you to stay

Someday we will meet, it will finally be the day, the day I get to hold you, make all this sadness go away

So bye for now my little one, I’m sorry we have to part

But know from now into eternity, you’ll always be in my heart

Goodbye baby.

What is a heart that none can mend

Leaving him there for the days work

I stir longingly at home with this ache

Wishing the day would end

He writes he feels the same

His heart breaks when he can’t hear my voice

But the morning dew still sits on the daisies

Time apart is cruel game

We wander far alone

But still somehow feel each others warmth

Going about our day’s bewilderment

Having the warmth, not touching the heart is sadness in our bones

Finally the sun starts to get drowsy

I hear the engine roar as he drives in

I paint my smile to make him happy

It’s been a long haul, I don’t want him feeling lousy

He comes in through the door

He can tell the day I’ve had

I can tell the work was hard

We need not say anymore

He envelopes me in the most amazing grasp

It’s hard to paint a smile when I feel happy

I breathe and pull in closer

At last our hearts we clasp

My favorite time of day is in the morning.

The young morning, when the dawn is bouncing off the one I love. His skin is so beautiful in those moments, right before the illustrious light of the sun peaks. His being beams with an immensely pure glow. My heart aches; I never want it to end. I gaze at him. I breathe him in. The Early Light of the morning is slowly fading....

Please don’t end. Stay.

His eyes blink open. He sleepily grins.

“What are you staring at?”

Identity is lost, somewhere forgotten.

Picking up the strings of yesterday, while grasping the seconds that pass too quickly as today disappears.

Nothing feels the same. Everyone is always yelling, there’s so many tears. So many smiles to force.

Seeking to find oneself again is a task that even the strongest man would find difficult.

Crawling up that mountain with eyes squinted. Rocks falling all around. Scraping knees on the loose dirt while trying to keep balance. The wind howls and it starts to rain.

The dirt washes away to mud and the wading begins.

Falling down, over and over. Nearly drowning as the bottom is reached again and it’s flooding now.

Don’t give up.

Brace.

Keep crawling. Keep crawling until the halfway point is reached. Maybe go beyond.

Someday I’ll find my identity.

Congratulations! Everyone says it as you’re whisked out of the delivery room, up to the recovery floor. You try to give somewhat of a smile as all the sweet eyes of the nurses and people you pass offer theirs. 
What an experience you just had. Never mind how your child came. Cesarean, vaginal, natural, drugged.. it’s all birth, and it can all be traumatic. 
They get you settled into your room and you put your baby’s skin to yours and breathe her in. You feel the whimpers start to come, and your body shakes as you remember what you just went through. Deep breaths.
Housekeeping comes to take your tray you barely picked off of, after not eating for a full 36hrs. You’re not hungry. You’re sore and exhausted and you just want to sleep. 
Closing your eyes now all you can see is your delivery all over again. Silent tears fall and you grimace at the gore you’re witnessing behind your eyelids. How did you just do that? Sleep overrules, and you drift off...


Discharge time. Everyone is “okay” and you head home. Finally sinking into your comfy bed and able to sleep wrapped in your favorite blanket. Baby is close to your chest and you enjoy the heaviness of her there.
24hrs later, you’re expected to get out of bed and go to the pediatrician with your baby. You muster the strength to rise in your soreness and shower. Maybe you’ll feel more human. You contemplate not going, but remember how fast they are to alert CPS of a missed appointment of this sort. You sigh. You decide to wear slippers. Baby goes into her sleeper and you’re off.


Every bump in the road is like hell to your body. Jerking you this way and that as you tense so it won’t hurt as bad.
Arrival at the doctor is met with a sparkling smile and a load of paperwork. You balance your fussy baby in one arm and manage to fill it all out. She’s hungry and you want your bed back now. Your headache comes again and you lean against the wall and close your eyes for a second. Everything hurts... 
They call the baby’s name and you’re put in room 3. After they weigh and measure and make the baby mad, you’re ushered to sit in a hard, plastic chair and wait for the pediatrician. Your stitches hurt. No matter which way you shuffle, the burning doesn’t leave.
You adjust your bra and cloth pads, and your cracked and bleeding nipples stick to the fabric. She has a lip tie. Breastfeeding never comes easy for you. You want to cry as she start to suck on her hands. She’s hungry. How do you feed her here with all the work you have to do to get her to latch properly? 
You manage. Pretty much the same way you’ve been ‘managing’ all day. 
The pediatrician comes in, and of course! the baby is perfect. Nothing out of the ordinary. You knew that. You get up to dress the baby and the pain of standing is almost too much. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and realize your hair is an absolute mess, and you’re so pail. Dizzy too. Bed sounds nice. They schedule another appointment for two weeks later and wave bye. You remember you have to schedule your postpartum check with you midwife too. Sigh.


Back home, snuggled with your bug, your mind is whirling with thoughts and emotions. Sifting through your experience in labor and trying to figure out why so much is expected out of a fresh mommy, who just brought a life into the world. No celebration for her. Puppies usually aren’t legally allowed to leave their moms until they’re eight weeks old. If you work, you’d only have five and a half weeks left with your baby full-time. Six weeks. That’s it. No time for healing. Of any sort. How are we NOT supposed to get depressed?
A lot of us have support. MOST of us don’t.
We need to change.
This needs a revamp....


Congratulations! Everyone says it as you’re whisked out of the delivery room, up to the recovery floor. You try to give somewhat of a smile as all the sweet eyes of the nurses and people you pass offer theirs.
They get you settled into your room and you put your baby’s skin to yours and breathe her in. You feel the whimpers start to come, and your body shakes as you remember what you just went through. Deep breaths.


Yeah, deep breaths, mama... so much is expected of you.
T-24hrs.....


No one was there when I climbed out of my sludge. When I found myself lying helplessly in the midst of it, dead, not breathing.

I touched my skin and it was cold. There was no spark here. I knew had to fight to bring me back to life. I had to fight for me.

I reminisced how I was so very alone when I collected the colors of my war paint from each failure and heartbreak and pain. So many dead ends. So many missed targets. I had to find my spark, I had to find my heartbeat so I could return to the death and bring me back.

All I could see was me lying there, helplessly, in that abyss of darkness.

Through powerlessness, I learned perseverance. I gathered my own arrows, and chose to stop dying over and over when I missed my target -until my brain learned the right way to think. I taught my mouth the correct language to speak.

Words of death only bring death.

Words of life only bring life.

And slowly but surely, that life, that sun, creeps in through the cracks of the trees when the morning is finally dawning. You feel the warm of the spotty light on your skin. It resonates through your pores into your inner being. The being that is so dark. That’s only used to the night. Over time when the sun is rising higher and higher, that being is smaller and smaller, and you have the strength to rise. The sludge disappears into a beautiful bed of daisies. You sit up. The rays shine on your cheeks, and you greet yourself with a gentle smile and reach out. That touch, that connection is nothing you’ve felt before. You know now, you are truly alive. You did it. You won. You don’t have to fight anymore. You wash your paint -but the stains remain. The scars of tremendous wars fought in the past.

...and you realize with tears streaming down your face..

You’re finally free. You found your spark, your heartbeat.

Who was the rescuer?

Who brought me out? Who saved me? Who fought for me with all their might?

The rescuer?

This rescuer...

...was me.