The Womb and The Lung
I opened to you
my womb — giving
part of me. Yet, I was blind
to the open tomb
that, inside, you would be…
And…
almost suffocating
from the grains
of your dirt,
I fought through
darkness that you enchanted
me with…
Now I breathe
with a broken lung
and my womb
is just like dung —
all that was saved
is me.
Yes, the wounds are
there and, yes, the wounds are
real; just like the
others you beat.
The others;
alone and unable to connect
again —
disillusioned by your false love;
they hide in lonely tents.
With all that’s left;
with what remains,
we all try to make our due,
though haunted by visions; lies
and delusions of still
being with you.
You, the pit and
the open tomb
that took a hold of our feet.
We fell;
thinking it was love,
but, love’s not
six feet deep.
Our hearts may mend,
our minds may calm;
seeing the truth; like truth
is sung.
Yet, our reward will tinge
in dung-filled wombs
and burn
in broken lungs.
About the Creator
Leah James
A creative and inspirational Midwest writer.
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