cw: gender dysphoria, violence

dear c,

it’s not your fault
that you were stillborn;
you were made of broken glass
unsettled ennui and whispered wishes
from a woman who never knew what she wanted
“I never saw myself as a mother,”
she murmurs in the morning sunlight
into your cold and porcelain ears.
your blood never brightened
your heart never hammered
its desperate fists against your
bent and unformed ribs.

i never meant
to finish the job, but
it never got started.
you never really took a breath
you only stole them, copied
word for word
from storybooks and shared sorrows
secrets slipped between shaking hands
under covers and desks and clothes.

i devoured you from
the inside out,
i can still taste the
shreds of would-have, should-have
could-have-beens,
wistful goodbyes,
last chances
missed connections.
all those whispered wishes never did you any good.
i still feel you dripping down my arms
drying in my hair
pooling at my feet
but you were born dead.
there was nothing there to kill.