It’s foolish to mourn for things that never were
to place a hand on your belly, and grieve your empty womb
its silly to shed tears over children who never existed
to tear up over imaginary names.
I have a house in my head
its on land I’ve never stood on,
under sunsets I’ve never watched
and stars I’ve never gazed at.
In this place is a husband who loves me,
cherishes me, priorities me
we dance at night in the rain
and snuggle up under blankets in front of the fire.
And as the new moon rises
reminding me again of my empty womb,
unlovable heart, and phantom life
its foolish to cry over things that don’t exist.