I moan as the pleasure goes through me,
He loves me, he said so.
Thirteen is so much fun, I am so in love, he is so cute
The passion of his body as he shares his love with me
in me
over me
on the smooth top of the car.

I sob pitiful tears as I hold my hair back
I try to throw up the moving in my womb
It clings to life and wont let go.
Holding on to my pelvic sides
Body shivering
Body retching
No release as it gently survives

Oh my heart is broken
The scalding hot bath numbs the isolation.
I don't see my love any more, someone else has his love
Still it wont release my womb from within
It holds on to me
clings to me
claws at me as I feel him grow.

The embarrassment of my parents
Mother cries bitterly, Father hangs his head in shame
I cannot keep this "******* child"
I will lose those alive I love
So lonely
So confused
I must give up if I want their approval

The pinch of the needle as it enters my skin,
The chair, the nurse, the forceps.
I stare up at the florescent light that beats my body
hurting me for the child within
probing me
cutting him
Through the blur , I’m sure I hear a scream

The ache as I see my baby go
No life,
Just pieces of left over life
His pain is gone he feels no more
Free
Unknown
Incinerated

Antibiotics my health slowly restores
My memory still at thirty one is torn
would my son, who never was
looks a little like my daughter who
now is holding my hand
loving
trusting
forgive me for my decision of say farewell

writing poetry
really isn't that hard:
you put down the words in your head
and you

break
up some
lines,

you can even try to rhyme
from time to time
but,
writing good poetry:
poetry that moves
and poetry that inspires
and poetry that is a blueprint
to your personality
and all your desires
where the lines
are smooth, slick with rhythm
where the phrases
are greedy of attention
like war and prison:
those kinds of poems
are going to be hard to write

but, in the end,
are so worth the writing