That plus sign was as red as the blood I wanted to rip from my veins the moment I found out about you.
Red, like the anger I felt as glass shattered around me.
I wished that I would shatter too.
You were conceived from the ashes of the bridges that failed to burn.
But I was never angry with you.
That night, I curled myself carefully around you and imagine our hearts beating in time, mine speeding up to catch yours, creating love in Morse code.
My dreams were filled with your face,
Sleepy eyes and rosy cheeks and wispy feathers of hair with a mind of their own.
I longed for the day I could hold you in my arms.
You were mine.
I thought you were mine.
When he found out, he planted seeds of a different kind.
Bruises bloomed like dying flowers all over my body.
I tried to shield you from the screams.
The ultimatums he threw at me hurt more than his punches,
And he swore that you and I would both end up dead at the bottom of the stairs.
He spoke of you like a broken, useless thing.
My hatred or him rose like a tsunami,
Threatening to envelop him.
I couldn’t keep you.
I was barely done with being a child myself,
And the thought of bringing you into a world with such hatred stung my heart like a thousand angry bees.
I couldn’t do it.
I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.
They laid me on a bed of thorns,
And I gazed at the ceiling and let the lights blind me.
I placed my hand over you once last time.
Now, there is this void I cannot fill.
The day I left him, I swear I felt your ghost flutter inside me.
Sometimes I make baby blankets out of the cobwebs.
I loved you, I swear I did.
I still do.
Join the Cultureshift!
Be a voice for the voiceless by subscribing to our weekly digest and sharing the truth with the world.