The names are piling up
I remember I can speak, write
Something that does not occur to me while they are
Eating cereal with plastic baby spoons
Or not eating at all, except maybe through the nose.
But when they are dead, and it feels the worst,
I fucking roar
Quietly and with respect for those around me, who may have noise sensitivities.
God surely must be quite tired of checking mentally ill children into heaven.
The coroner must be tired.
The nurses must be tired.
I am very tired, it seems relentless these days.
Another day, girl girl girl boy they/them she/them he/them reduced to death by misadventure or chronic or deceased or worse, somehow, EUPD which might have just been autism and/or ADHD and/or PDA profile and/or what does it matter they/them are dying/dead.
I am in love getting married and it’s been 7 years and they’re still dying/dead and I’m here/alive feeling guilty. When does it end? The children without help without choices without voices?
I’m getting impatient.
I would really like to know.
Written by Anwen