Where sun light refuses to shine
is where the ground is rock solid.
Dirt-like slabs of concrete.
A tragedy that nothing will grow
except for you.

To say that nothing breathes in me is misleading
for i am full of your hot air that does nothing to fill me
and while punching pregnant stomachs makes most lose their lunch
I egg them on, unafraid of this hollow reality.

Drowning in the oceans tide
I've slipped hard on the rocks of infertility
as the deciding moon, that is all things woman,
pierces it’s light through the waves
and steals my birth rights.

Not even all the water in the ocean can flood the ground
and make it mud,
make it soft to plant some seed.

Why must i bleed for you? for what is my reward,
why must i suffer this abortion with no fetus,
this surgery to make things worse?

I keep these organs inside
and hang hats of hopes and dreams on them
of one day having the opportunity
that I've flushed so many times down the drain.

I've beat myself in the stomach at times
when i thought you could be true
iI've taken all this for granted.

And in the back of my mind
I hear the townsfolk babble
"there walks she who is hollow"
and all the mad drumming I've done on my belly
never brought about any change,
and I'm still trying to decide If I'm feeling kicks
or I'm dying inside
or if there's just a drunk fish that swims
from vagina to brain, transmitting false-love.

I see all those deemed physically able procreating
but see there's nothing in the heart
I see their selfish eyes fill with dollar signs.
I see those called "mistakes".
I'm mentally aware for this. just physically challenged.

The stretched punch from across the room struck me center
and seeing as how there was nothing to block it in my empty condition,
the fist went through me and into some other girl,
someone who could bare and wasn't barren.

I'd spin on my face, 33 times round ,
to rid my body of whatever toxin-punch you've filled me with,
for i know my body can't create,
but the one good thing I'm good at son...
I'm always down to reject.

Hitting her was like a hitting a brick wall.
and i didn't even have to be doing 65.
it was at that moment i knew exactly what had happened
the forced fist had taken all my chances and gave them to her.

Now my skin is moving, like there's worms in my wrists
as pastel colors swirl around my stomach
and I can feel hands inside me,
I'm snapping Polaroids of hand prints on my belly,
waving the film around i glance at the empty picture.

I look for fingers and feet.
I look for movement, for vibrancy
and life but it's never there. it's empty.
how could every single frame be bad?
like it's been exposed to light or over processed.

I lick and blow the film, check my batteries...fine,
confident in my knowledge i shove the camera inside me
to get a better shot of the truth

All the photographs and snapshots taken
still deliver the same results.
All these pictures aren't worth a thousand words.
they've taken my breath and left me speechless.

I hear only one cry and it's mine
and the only thing i bled out was the camera,
I was right all along,
nothing grows here,
dead garden for sure.

02/11/2009