To choose a life
Whose life? The life of me, or the life of my child? There can only be one
A child who would not be born, but from his dead mother's defective womb untimely ripped
Or a Mother - a woman who would be broken and bleeding long before she had any choice to make
This is no temple for life
I was made with loose screws, wrong pieces, were I an appliance, I would be sent back but I have no warranty to fulfill
And maybe God used a faulty chisel when carving my form, maybe he used the wrong clay when shaping me, making me
Faulty.