I never cried so much as the day they told me:
You are still not a woman (not yet),
and made everything go from hot to cold.
I shook and shook and shook and couldn't breathe,
and pieces of me crumbled and covered my sheets in dust,
like I'd been lying there for years.
And I remember my arm so heavy,
so useless beside my body, on my bed,
when I needed so much to use it.
And it hardened into something I wanted to
but couldn't bring myself to cut off.
And I thought:
This is what grief is.
This is how you mourn the death of something
that was never born.
Created: Jul 02, 2012truenorth Document Media