Content Warning!! Suicidal thoughts; Blood; Graphics Content; Miscarriage; Pregnancy loss; Infertility
This one may be the scariest that I’ve posted. Below you will find two poems. My poetry is very personal to me, so posting this is very difficult. These are going to be serving as the open letter to my body. The body that I hate most days. The body that doesn’t work. The body that is broken. This body.
Wasteland
A wasteland so bareen
A dry and dusty hue
Nothing has sprouted
Nothing had grew
Tears used as water
Blood to nourish
Heart providing warmth
But nothing will flourish
Will life be seen?
Will cries be heard?
Will the world come alive?
Will growth be stirred?
It matters not
The death the land bleeds
Gone is the life
The end of the seeds
Blood turns to dust
River paths run dry
Flesh gave away
To live you must die
Growth may never return
1095 days to see something bloom
Only to be gone
Taken from the world too soon
The wasteland is still barren
Gray, sad and alone
The nights and days blend
The maiden becomes the crone
Blood
Is it life or is it death?
This blood that flows through my veins
It gives life
It carries your breathe
It keeps you alive
As long as you don't loose too much
Because then you die
Once a month, I die a little
I bleed and hate myself
Twice last year, I blead for days
I lost a potential life
Blood means death
It means loss and heartache
I ask myself
Why can't I bleed in my more constructive manner?
Why can't I bleed in a way that will allow me to truly die?
Instead, I have to live with half deaths.
Blood that kills my soul but not my body.
It makes me loose my heart but not its beat
Blood means both life and death
And once a month, I die.
I know these are very difficult to read. I know they can be triggering. They are dark. My poems tend to be, but I hope they resonate with someone. You are not alone.
Please follow me on my social media accounts below. I also beg you to please donate to our go fund me to start IVF treatments. Please. I want to stop hating my body. I want to stop hating myself. I want to give life. I don’t want to always be a wasteland.
Others in this Series
Letters of Infertility- Dear Pregnant Stranger
L. M. Archer 