Look at all the ***** that I give
I labor through each, contraction after contraction
pushing through the breach
Nine months of waiting and hours of screams
will not be stillborn

This way, when I give a ****, someone will appreciate it
Someone will be there in the delivery room
cradling my hand as I spasm across the sheets
They will coo and observe over my sweat streaked shoulders
waiting for the feels

But maybe, just once, once my **** is free
sliding from me in a wash of catharsis
after the placenta peels free and the afterbirth escapes
maybe it will be cleaned and weighed and wrapped
and laid upon my arms

maybe then I will feel the feels
I will contract the disease of affection
a want for this **** that I carried
A stubborn resolve may just rise in my throat
and not a single **** will I give