Empty Womb, Heavy Soul.

Sometimes, pain and grief needs poetry, and poetry needs pain and grief.

Wear your pain in such a way that it fills you with feeling, until you are so very comfortable with it that it's a friend and not an enemy.

Grief can become such a gripping pain that affects us in many different ways and at various times in our lives. For me, that kind of pain can only be healed with writing. It's in writing where I discover myself and I can learn to let go.

Earlier this year, my family experienced an incredibly difficult time after suffering a miscarriage. It was difficult for many reason, and it's still a pain I carry around with me today. Though I am incredibly grateful for all that I have- my husband and three children- the loss of the pregnancy in fact came with the gain of much: sorrow, pain, confusion, weakness and strength. Luckily for me, I have the support of a wonderful man, family, and friends. Even more so, I have my writing, where I can perhaps delve a little deeper into my emotions and express myself in ways I can't with spoken words.

Empty Womb, Heavy Soul.

By Leah Skinner

A seed that failed to bloom, leaves behind an empty womb- vacuumed and scraped of the decay that refused to grow, or thrive, or flourish.

The marks left behind are deep. You can't see them on the surface, but I feel them deep within my soul where a vault contains nothing and everything all at once. It's this dark and heavy sorrow that burrows deep, waiting in silence. Then at other times it's loud and wild and angry. It tries to surface all the time like that- wild and angry. But such things aren't made for the light. Or perhaps if I let it go, the light would fill it and transform it into something new?

I want and hope and need to let it go so desperately. But I'm scared that if I do...each time I try...but each time I try, each time I think I'm ready- it's time- I'm greeted with it anew, and it hurts too much. Because the sorrow has thorns that scrape at the edges of my soul, clawing at my insides. It hangs on with such a grip, and it's just so strong that I can't possibly fight it.

At least not yet. Not now. Not completely. It's easier to let it sink. For now at least. Because it hurts less on the inside. It hurts less when I just leave it alone, clinging on to the inside of my soul silently, until it's not silent. But my soul, don't despair at how you have changed with thick and hardened edges now. Each time that wild and angry sorrow fights me I grow stronger too, and it becomes a little weaker. Those thorns that scrape and cut are filed and smoothed away, little by little, hurting less and less each time. One day soon I will release it: smooth and soft out into the open, where light and air will fill it- and fill my soul too- and they'll emerge together, my soul and the sorrow, and they'll be different. They'll thrive and flourish together.

Click here to read my personal essay. #Notassadebutnotquitewhole #writereadtalklive