I Chose This

When I sleep on my side my hand naturally rests on my stomach and sometimes a tear will roll down my cheek as I fall asleep. It reminds me there’s nothing growing in there because I’m not a strong enough woman.

Exercising my body, my choice. Reminding myself that it was my choice so I don’t fall off the deep end.  My toes dangled off the edge once… maybe a few times.

It feels like I’ve left my body.

And though it sways in the wind like a lone tree and that very tree rots and falls down and I cannot tell you if it makes a thud, or more, or less.

Because no one is there.

Not even me.

But I can tell you I wake up screaming and take days to feel like me again.

Find me thankful for pro choice.

But also find me weak.

Find my lover asking me what I wanted to do and find my choices dwindle as time and his disapproval goes by.

“Keep it…” I say / “Okay,” he says.

“What do you want to do with it?” he asks / “Keep it,” I say with bliss!

Disapproving silence he gives / “Give it to someone who can look after it” I say hopefully.

“What do you want to do with it?” he asks / “Let’s talk about it more?” I ask.

Disapproving silence he gives / “Let’s make a pros and cons list.”

Disapproving silence he gives / “What else can I do?” I cry.

“Let’s pretend it never happened” he insists. Disapproving silence I give.

“This was my choice,” I tell myself as my body empties.

I chose this.

I chose this.

I chose this.

I didn’t want to do it all alone.

I chose to be a weak woman.