Something no one wants to talk about
But something that is itching to be said
I don't care about politics
Society
I care about life
A little life that you killed
If you choose to make it
Don't choose to **** it
Some people say
When you are ***** it is ok
To **** that life inside of you
It pains me to agree that
Yes that is ok
If you feel that is what god is telling you
Then do it
Because it wasn't you choice
It wasn't you mistake
Your fault
If you choose to make it
Don't **** it
Because you will never feel grieve
Until you realize
The terrible
Unchangeable mistake
You just made
If your going make mistakes
Don't make another
Living human
Suffer in your place
Because no matter what anyone says
The minute that baby starts growing
In your body
It is living
Keep it living
Keep it thriving

It was a long train I was on
When I saw the sun illuminate the clouds
And cylindrical beams reached the ground
Making me think the heavens had opened
And that there was a way up from down here

I pictured myself, laid flat
Alive. Elevated. Spread arms. On my back.
Floating upwards, transcendent
And never coming back.

And then I imagined meeting you for the first time
Seeing you physically and spiritually
You were there waiting for me, precious.
The child I never met.

I found you alone, still young.
I was crying with happiness
There was nobody else in heaven but us
And I could hold you, touch you for the first time and never stop.

In my head I picked you up
We floated together
We were happy
Because there were no problems.
No reason why I'd be a ****** mother
We had everything we needed just through
Embracing each other.

And then there were no words, no more.
What a dream, I thought.

Maybe in the future the others would join us
But some of them don't really understand
They try.
No, there would just be us.

The train felt longer after that.
Eventually I approached my stop and knew it was my time to stumble off
Wishing I could instead, kiss your head

Thinking about how sad it is that
Heaven doesn't exist.
And neither can you.

little hand's hold
little toes cold
little born soul
at how old?

I'm not one for protests, baby
But I'd fight anyone
who'd say you weren't alive
when I could feel your heart beat within mine.
I'm not one for objection
But I'd challenge anyone
who'd say you couldn't hear
cause we've talked like crazy, though less than a year
And I'm not one to outcry the next
They could try their best
to deny you as a child
but before you first cried out
You'd been a person for awhile
Because I felt you, baby
I felt you smile
and you felt
when my fingers pressed against your wall
and you heard my call
and I called you, Baby

I found a baby doll
3 days later
I cradled her in my arms
Careful not to wake her

She was but one head bigger
Than my own perfect doll

When she was alive

I buried her in a shoebox
And said my goodbyes
I said my sorries
And dried my eyes

But they never stopped leaking
And she never stopped sleeping

No more is she alive.

In the same strong blanket
I wore as a babe
She'll rest in peace in pieces
Inside that grave
For I am weak
But she is brave
And I'll never know
The love I never gave

A stiff wind broke the morning clouds. It was another gloomy sunrise, in a string of second-rate days. Kiera woke much like the sun, downtrodden and wishing to fall back down. She snapped down on the alarm, knocking it to the floor, and with two blinks was out again—back into a world she was beginning to recognise.

First the flooding darkness. Despite two weeks of this her body still rejected it. Her body hated it. Pathetic. Limbless shakes as the throbbing chill tore its way through her lungs, gripped her skin like sweat. She could smell the sharp stink of iron. When her vision came she saw her arms were covered in blood. A red too bright.

A figure she hadn’t noticed flickered out of her view. She turned her head sharply but saw no one.

Kiera realised she was walking. She held a square, brown-wrapped package, which would not stop squirming. As she struggled to keep hold of the ******* thing, ****** prints coated its sides. A postbox lay on the other side of the road—the same colour as the blood on her arms.

Kiera was furious. The ******* package would not stop squirming. She needed to reach the postbox before she dropped it. She was desperate—scared shitless. Why?

Kiera began to cross the road. Each step sent the package twitching, twisting. Her legs were bone thin. Her skin was shredding apart. Another flicker—edge of the vision phantom—appeared, but she barely noticed. The package was growing so heavy that her toes were breaking on the asphalt. She looked up and saw the postbox had receded.  How dare you? How ******* dare you, you *******.

She was on the wrong side. She had never left the sidewalk. How could she? She had no legs. Blood began to pour out of the postbox. It crossed the road, coating her torso, lapping the bottom of the package. The package stilled and began to deform in her hands. It was rotting.

Kiera had an urge to *****.

Unborn
You were alive and kicking
one third a child and one half me
But I was half the person
I was half-dead and hurting
And now I'm half-alive, half-dead, half-empty and half-full
Alive enough to feel the dead part of me that's missing.

In this world I can never make sense of
That makes the unnatural seem so right
Everything natural lead to you, and now I'm siding with the unnatural.
I'm living with half myself and no more you
Beautiful, alive and kicking
Kicking me into the unnatural world and yourself into oblivion

You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in black and white
But nothing about this was black or white
I'm fifty shades away from the greyest grey
And I miss you. Even if we'll never speak. I miss how much you scared me. I miss my natural world. My world of alcohol and *** and cigarettes and love and me at the centre.
And I still picked me. But you're half me.

This natural world is unfair; people who want you can't get you and people who don't want you do.
Now I'm siding with the unnatural.
But it's too grey to handle, too complex
never as beautiful as you
It's mother's Day today and I am no mother.
And even in your non-existence my hair is turning grey.

What I didn't realise when I ****** the life out of you is that I ****** some of the life out of me, too.
I know you cannot feel, but I wish I could have comforted you as you became sixths and eighths and suddenly nothing to be afraid of any more.

I wish I could have held you and briefly been your mother for just a second as you left me and as you screamed.
But you can't scream.
No, you're just cells. I'm just cells.
A nervous system away from you and
cords and worlds apart.

I wish I could have gone with you to your world as I felt the artificial peace of mine when you left me in my sleep.
I think I will prefer your world to this unnatural one.