What can I say that I haven’t tried to tell you before?
I have tried to turn my voice into a machine
at times, thinking my words may drill
understanding into your head, your heart, anything.
I failed at that. Or you failed at that.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
What’s done is done and it exists
forever now. My heart is heavy with the weight
of the world, always has been.
But somehow I allowed you to make that heaviness
in comparison to the way judgement looks
in your eyes.
I can’t compare anything to the times I’ve felt so abandoned
by the person who promised for better or worse.
I laugh about that now. Sometimes I look at you
in your laid back ways, never
letting anything bring you down,
and I get it.
I get that you couldn’t possibly understand
the turmoil that turns my mind into a tornado
of so many different things. Things
that already destroyed who I was
and every day they threaten what’s left
of who I am now.
My grace is gone.
It left a long time ago with everything else.
I’ve tried to tell you about that girl you used to know. I told you over the years what
happened to her, why you’ll never see her again.
Even though you were there. It didn’t matter enough to you I guess.
But for me, God… help me now. I can’t even write about it without breaking
all over again. And you know I never talk about God,
the way I once did. I can still feel the marks on my knees
from all the time I kneeled down and begged him….he never answered.
Or maybe his answer was like yours… just silence.
But that’s not an answer. Never was.
Never can be. Silence didn’t help me. Silence….
You know what silence is to me? It’s what killed that girl
I was before. Took everything I ever wanted and smeared
it across my face hard and said…”Sorry.” I hate
the word sorry.
But I never heard that word from you
then. I guess you didn’t know what to say,
like everyone else. People always say the dumbest things
anyway. Maybe silence is better
in the way it has tortured me for so long. Maybe never
having anyone acknowledge what happened
was better than hearing the words
“It was meant to be.”
Please tell me how something like that
is meant to be. I already know the stupid
answers people use for that question.
It was never meant to be.
Tell me why I had to hear
those beautiful heartbeats so many times
only to have
“I’m so sorry” shoved down my throat
like a flatline telling me
I want you to know what it’s like.
I want you to feel this.
I want you to look at this
four bedroom house. Open the two doors
that stay closed. I need you to feel
the same emptiness. I want you to lie down
on that table at the doctors office
with the cold substance
on your belly, feel the anticipation
of hearing the heartbeat again.
I want you to see the face of the technician who leaves
to get the dr. I want you to feel it when the Dr says,
“I’m sorry.” I want you to hear how
“I’m sorry” sounds to me.
It sounds like “I’m sorry your baby is dead….
maybe next time.”
I want you to know what that feels like.
Then I want you to feel it
I want it to destroy you.
I want you to relive each one for the rest of your life.
I want it to empty you. I want it to strip your faith
I want you to be cut open again
and again, so the doctor can scrape out what’s left
of your dreams. Then I want to constantly ask you
what happened to you.
Tell you how you used to be so much better.
How now you’re just crazy.
Or maybe I just wanted you to acknowledge it once…
or seven times.
But you never did.
That’s how we died.
© Stephanie Bennett-Henry 2016
Stephanie is a Southern Girl through and through. Sweet as candy, sharp as a blade, and talented beyond measure, Stephanie’s poetry is raw, unfiltered, and unforgettable. You can find her exquisite words at Stephanie Bennet-Henry, on Instagram, and on her website.