every time i die i ask god to take the years stolen. grant them to the growing babe sleeping under the t.v. glare. take the years they stole. grant me another restless night of sleep while I await my millionth demise. it contorts into a welcome calm- another restless night of sleep- where i am ripped open before life exposed to all my waking fears- creating every new tomorrow. i am ripped open before life- undressed before the doctors with their magic medication. eager to mend my mind. undressed before the doctors- that as a mother i may be unfit to take a babe and mold a healthy man. as a mother i may be unfit every time i die. i ask god to grant me the years i’ve lost. another chance to make it right.
© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Mainly for my classes. I’ve been having some major health problems, caring for my kiddo, trying to finish my BA and write my senior thesis. I’m exhausted. I have to thank my love, who has seriously been my rock and cared for me and my son even when I’m a sicky, moody beastie >.< thank you, amor. Hopefully, I’ll be posting more often again and working to create more structured and metered poetry.