Didn't think of doing this earlier, thanks Marie!

I guess since I've talked about the readings I did I could go ahead and post them here (duh!). Here is the first one I read at the open mic night. It's called "Stolen". I wrote it soon after we received our diagnosis of azoospermia.


Stolen
By Sarah Aarssen

I'll never check the calendar smiling, thinking "hey I may be late".
I'll never suprise our parents with the news of their "grandparent" fate.
You've stolen all the joy that making a child is supposed to bring.
You've taken a beautiful moment and turned it into an ugly thing.

I'll never once experience the thrill of the three minute wait.
It's more like a tortured time, when one minute feels like eight.
I'll see there is no line and once again we'll have no child.
I'm bitter, angry and confused and that's to put it mild.

I had visions of telling my husband, a Dad you're soon to be.
To see the look upon his face, his hands on my belly.
We'll never argue over names or the colors for the room.
We'll never giggle over the little kicks that are coming from my womb.

You've taken from me a joy that I'll never get to know.
You've stolen what was rightfully mine, striking a sinking blow.
Why does this happen to me, to my love and to our life?
I didn't see this coming, "mother" belongs right after "wife".

Infertility is the thief that snuck into our lives.
Infertility steals the child from the husbands and the wives.
Infertility should be a crime but the punishment is not it's own.
It belongs to the couples who suffer, whose child does not come home.


The next one is "Silently Screaming" and I wrote this for a 'friend' who asked me to write something to help her husband understand how she was feeling. He always tried to be positive rather than just saying "this does effing suck" sometimes. So that inspired this one. It's a bit more dramatic than I usually write but it's just how it came out when I sat down and wrote it.


Silently Screaming
by Sarah Aarssen

You are my solid rock, my anchor, the one I lean on. You’re the one I depend on in my time of need. You are the one I love.

You are strong for me in every way. To see me hurt is pouring salt in your wound. You wipe my tears, you hold me close, your warmpth fills my body that’s been chilled to the bone. When I am so far down I cannot see the light of the sun, to feel the heat of it’s rays, all it takes is your gentle touch, your encouraging voice and once again I feel like I may be able to go on. To try one more time.

With every month that passes, with every day that goes by that we don’t hold our baby in our arms you seem to get stronger. There is always light at the end of your tunnel. That silver lining is a constant on your cloud.

You have so much faith, hope and will for this child... for me... for us. All those qualities I love about you but I would be lying if I didn’t say... I’m silently screaming.

I’ve tried to tell you how much I’m hurting. How broken I feel, but sometimes even I can’t find the words, so how can I expect you to understand? I open my mouth, my mind races with thoughts, my heart pounds out the words but my tongue remains still.

I’ve blamed myself time and time again, although I know we’re in this together. What’s wrong with ME? Why can’t I work right? What’s wrong with MY body. You have never made me feel guilty, but I can’t help but think it’s my fault. It’s such an isolating experience.

Even when all signs point to ‘yes’ for us, my body responds to injections, medicines, things that are supposed to make us parents, but still we remain childless. Things just don’t seem to go our way and I slip further away, alone. Alone not physically, because you’re always by my side, but alone in understanding or rather in not uderstanding.

When I see that once again it wasn’t our month, it cripples me. I feel weak and out of breath but at the same time so full of breath that I’m suffocating. It shakes me to my core.

I am standing in an big empty room, screaming so loud that the echos ring in my ears, yet you’re unable to hear me. You’re unable to understand because the words come out backwards, in another language, in tounges even I cannot comprehend. Of course you don’t understand, I don’t know how to make you understand.

Sometimes I want you to be raw. I want you to be real with me not for me but with me. I want you to scream with me, even if it is silently and nobody else can hear us. And who knows, maybe you already are?

I don’t want you to treat me so fragile, but I want you to pick me up and encourage me to scream with you. Scream at how unfair it is, because, my love, it is so unfair.

I want you to jump, throw punches and beat the punching bag with me because God dammit nothing else is working and we have to get this out of us. It may not help but wont it feel good?

I don’t want you to be strong for me, I want you to be strong with me. I want to run until we’re breathless and collapse on the ground. I want to cry in each other’s arms for what we want so badly yet can’t seem to acheive. I want to break the dishes, bang the pots and pans and shatter glass like our hearts have been shattered.

I want us to get mean, get down to the core and be raw. Be exposed. I need to be exposed. I need you to be exposed along side me.

You are my solid rock, my anchor, the one I lean on. You are the one I depend on in my time of need. You are my love. Scream with me my love. I need it.



And of course the one I wrote for Marco. I didn't name it so it's just called "for Marco". LOL

Strength to keep on trying.
Will to keep on going.
Power to hold me up.
Ability to make me smile.
Arms that keep on hugging.
Patience that keep on waiting.
Enegry to continue on, even though it's sometimes tough.

Selflessness that keeps on giving.
Passion to be my partner.
Humor to be my mate.
Want to be my friend.
Love to be a father to our son or to our daughter.
Gift you've selflessly given.
Our world is forever changed.

You are my reason for laughing.
You're the best explination I can think of for smiling.
You're my most intimate thought.
You are my passionate sentiment.

I know it may not rhyme.
It may sound so cliché.
It may be a list, not a poem.
but it's the things I wanted to say.