(Poem) My Heart Is Not A Bone

Here is a poem I wrote about a year ago, in a moment of rage upon reading some hurtful words used to "encourage" a friend to stop being so sad about her lost child. On Christopher Robin's fifth stillbirthday, I thought it would be fitting to share it here.

Every time I hear
another smug jackass
telling me, or
someone, or
no one in particular that

grief shouldn't last this long, man,


Still pregnant with loss,
My limbs slacken under the heaviness of empty
And my womb flutters with the memory of hope.

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