god changed her mind. move the fuck on.

fuck it.
i’ll say it.
i don’t cry over my ex.
i don’t cry over my mom.
i don’t cry over
my fucked-up life
or how i’ve had to
survive shit
that would leave
most people
in the fucking ground.

but this?
this shit right here?
losing her—
shit’s got me
sobbing at 3am
on some
random-ass wednesday.

nah, but—
i’m not a fucking soft bitch.
it just makes me so fucking mad,
i don’t have anything
to prove
you
even
ever
fucking
existed.

i cry about that shit.

i fucking cry about a baby
who never even got a chance
to be “real” to anyone else.
no fucking ultrasound taped to the fridge.
no fucking hospital bracelet.
no stupid fucking balloon.

bro.
no paperwork to prove
she even fucking had life.
god, that fucking kills me.
yo, for real.
like a dropkick straight to my stomach.

like fuck it,
you don’t get a fucking funeral.
you just bleed out,
on the fucking floor.
by yourself.

and that’s how
you get to say
goddamn goodbye.
to an entire
alternate fucking timeline.
where maybe i had two of you.

she never made it.
but she made it to me.
she was real to me.
she lived in my body
and rewired my entire
sense of fucking hope.
and then she was just—
fucking gone.
no warning.
no explanation.
no fucking goodbye.
just some faded ass lines,
and blood gushing out of me
on the laundry room floor.

yep.
but like,
next day?
everyone acted like
i should just
bounce the fuck back.
like it was a fucking blip.
like i should be grateful
i still “could” have another.
(i am)

but i didn’t want another.
i wanted her.
and i still do.
and i fucking loved her.

yeah,
fucking both of them.

because, yo—
most days?
i don’t think about fucking anything.
i black out all the pain.
nah,
i mean all of it.
some days i’m fine.
then a random night
throat-punches me
and i’m on the
the fucking floor again
like a dumbass cliché
i want to set the fuck on fire.
it’s embarrassing as hell.
i don’t want to be this
little pussy ass bitch.
i hate feeling this much
fucking pain.
i hate this story.
i hate that i still cry.
i hate that i can’t logic it away.
i hate that the world
gives zero fucks
about a goddamn ghost
and tells me
to get the fuck over it.

ok.

i found out
i never even
knew my husband.
he was probably
lying to me
the fucking whole time.
cheating.
manipulating.
spending my money
and building some
std-filled-future
while i was planning
to raise our fucking kid.

and even that betrayal?
bro, literally—whatever.
dude was truly wack.
cool.
take him.
fucking trash day.

besides my kids?
(obvy sammi included)
fuck it,
throw them the fuck away.
done with my mom.
yep.
she’s gunna
miss
the whole ass
grandma era
fucking experience.
sucks for her.
my entire
fucking family—
is goddamn
dead to me.

and honestly?
couldn’t give
a single fuck.
i’ll see
those assholes
in fucking hell.

shit isn’t a loss, bro.
those people?
they don’t give a fuck.
and now?
i don’t either.
because
really,
it’s like my whole life
has been
so fucking numb.
i can’t feel things sometimes.
it’s just like—
i expected you to hurt me.
i expected you to fuck off
and obviously—
goddamn abandon me.
that part?
yeah, fucking whatever.
that pain is dull.
nah,
i don’t even cry.

but her?
she is bright,
sharp pain that
refuses to fade.
she’s the quiet room
in my aching chest
with the light left on.
she’s the “should have been”
that keeps breathing
even when
i’m trying not to think.

and don’t get it fucked up:
i would choose my daughter
now
a thousand lifetimes
in a row.
she is fucking perfect,
feral magic,
exactly where
she’s meant to be.
i’d break my body
a million fucking times
again
for her
without blinking.

it’s just—
two truths
can live in the same
brutal tiny chest:
i’m grateful
for the child i have.
and i am fucking haunted
by the one i didn’t get to keep.

and i don’t have
a dumb
fucking lesson for you.
nah,
no bow.
no moral.
no “everything happens for a reason.”
for the love of god,
please miss me with that.

because her loss wasn’t just sad.
it was cosmic.
like something sacred
got ripped from my life mid-sentence.
like god herself
changed her fucking mind.

i just want it to
stop
fucking
hurting like this.

until then,
i’ll keep doing what i do:
pay the bills.
kiss my living girl’s forehead.
and sometimes—
on those random,
stupid fucking days—
i’ll pull over,
cry like a dumb motherfucker,
wipe my face,
and keep going.