Drop It

a poem

Photo by Limor Zellermayer on Unsplash

I know, I know
they say not to
rub salt into the wound
not to cozy up
with the insults
others hurl
— like a blanket.

But when you paced
in my birthing room
saying that I should
“just” submit
and cut myself open
— it’s hard to forget.

It’s hard to drop
the weight
of such uncaring words
like I just wasn’t meant
to have my third son
because I had
a fourth miscarriage
in the five years
before his birth.

It’s hard to drop it
when you recruited
others to play your game
and I wasn’t invited
to that stagette
and then you gaslit me
— when I got upset.

These days
you like to cover up
the things that ugly step sisters do
by telling me
— I’m just jealous.