I’m sorry that I don’t want kids
I’m still a kid myself.
July 2022 was my birth.
Age 25 and flung into blinding light.
Ripped from the suffocating womb that I had been shoved into
And incubated.
Squished, pushed, moulded,
Deprived of nutrients
From my mother,
From him,
And also him,
And my dad,
And the list of contributors is extensive.

I’m sorry I can’t commit to giving you the grandchild/ren
That you so desperately want.
But I’ve only just been born,
Yet I’ve already done my time.
I have two sisters.
Two kids.
Two souls I’ve grown, nurtured, sheltered, loved, taught.
But didn’t birth.
I’ve already been a parent.
And I’m sorry it’s not in the correct way.
I didn’t choose it.