The Child I'll Never Meet

How apropos

For writers and poets

That ‘womb’ and ‘tomb’

Rhyme so effortlessly.

And it's morning, and I'm mourning

For the child I'll never meet–

I can see them so clearly,

His eyes, my smile,

Our minds (poor thing).

And yes, I love this life

That would never have been

If I'd stayed…

But I can't help but wonder

How it would've played out:

What would they love?

Who would they want to become

If they'd had a chance

To be?

I'm sorry.

I was never ready…

I wanted you to have a better life

Than mine,

And now

You have

nothing.

I wanted to be

The best parent I could,

I worked on myself

Until I worked out

How unhappy

I was,

Then I had to change

Everything,

And you got lost

In the shuffle,

All our carefully-laid plans

faded…

I would rather regret

Never having you

Than face the fact

That I'd hurt you

(ultimately, irreparably)

I couldn't do it.

But now you'll never have

The chance to heal,

Or do, or feel.

The reasons I wanted you

Weren't enough, in the end:

A child is not

An experiment,

A way to bond,

A legacy,

An assurance

That I'll never be alone;

You would've been

A full person,

Not a vessel for

Expectation.

Who was I to create life

When mine was half-lived?

When I was still trying

To be everything

Everyone wanted of me?

They'll cut away at

Any possibility, and

I turn away,

Your face too sweet:

So innocent, a thing

I protected so hard

You never had a chance

To sing.

Now I have to raise

My inner child

In a gentler way that they

Never experienced

While I cry

For the child

I'll never meet.