People congratulated me and I felt displaced because I had no business at this affair.
This was no feat. No accolade. Nothing to celebrate.
They congratulated me and every time they did it made you a little more alive. A little more human. A little more of a blessing, and not the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me.
And I hated every minute of it.
Because everyday that I was forced to allow you to grow, I felt myself shrinking as I grew more detached from my own body.
Every attempt to nourish myself turned into a regurgitation session.
Of my meals.
Of my pride.
Of my strength.
And some wanted me to feel guilty because I didn’t desire to gift you with life.
To be your mother.
But my love, it wasn’t you.
It was everything that happened before you that left me on the edge of my bed crying at the thought of being unable to love you in the fashion that you deserved.
So that’s why we can’t be together. At least not now.
But if given the chance again, after my wounds aren’t so fresh And there’s nothing left but healed scars to tell my story... I’d bleed myself dry for you instead of bleeding you out.