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Poetry & Art

My Egg Donor

Oh, my child-bearer –

i’ve spent what felt like centuries yearning for your comfort

desperately, innocently reached out to no avail

without fail, coming back with empty hands and an emptier heart

a child grasping for acknowledgment, for anything really

the supposed nurturer — one that gave me life

you ransacked my voice

still, i blamed me

your calculated, malicious glares

your ghastly, terrifying midnight flares

“which person would i get today?” i thought

i often wondered if you’d ever return

but you were never there

oh, what you are — my eyes are wide open after all this time

spent nearly 27 years healing your abuse and abandonment

all my childhood spent wondering and wishing 

i got nothing, only bloody noses and dismantling of my identity

i will never identify why

an empty shell, a spirit of the dead

nothing but an illusion, what i dreamt you could be

alcohol on your breath and cigarette smoke in your hair — it lingers

i let you steal my soul

well, i’ve found me

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by A.M Winchester

INFJ- wounded healer. traveling freelance writer and Integrative Healing Arts Practitioner.

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