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You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I carried you for almost 7 months.
A small person in
My small 14 year old body.  
I loved you with passion and fire.
I would whisper songs to you
Because I was not allowed to sing.
I would hold pillows as practice.  
To holding you.
I would read to you in a whisper
Because he was illiterate.
And was jealous I knew how to read.  
I lost you in a bathtub.  
It was the place I crawled to when
I saw the blood.
We didn't have a phone
I couldn't call anyone.
I screamed for my mother
As I clawed at the porcelain.  
I screamed to God
As I clawed at my swollen stomach.
The blood flowed.
I watched it pool at the drain.  
Light at first, watery
Growing darker by the minute
Then begin to flow heavier.
The pressure to push was immense.
I wasn't even knowledgeable enough
To know my ******* would be in the way.
Until I felt your head inside them
I tore them off.  
And you slipped out
Like a little eel.
You were perfect.
I held you and threw my head back
And screamed at the spotted
Rain damaged ceiling.
When I delivered the placenta
I thought my insides were falling out.
I knew before you even came into the
World that you would never see it.
You had stopped moving 5 hours before.
My little girl child.
Who was killed.  
Stomped out of me by her
Own 19 year old father.
Because I refused to iron a shirt for him
To go out on a "Date"
He came home the next morning.
Still high.
I had wrapped you in one of the two
Baby blankets I had.
After I washed both of us in the tub.
Where I marveled at the beauty of you.
All of your tiny fingers.
All of your tiny toes.
The way your legs were a froggy pose.
The roundness of your tummy.
The softness of your palm
Which is where I whispered
I love you over and over again.
I sobbed how sorry I was
Over and over again too.
As I cradled you naked
In my arms.
In that old bathtub
I begged him to bury you.
He refused and left for work.
Ran really. He ran out the door.  
I didn't know it was ******,
I didn't know it was illegal.
So I buried you like I would
A beloved pet.
In my favorite purse.
With you in a diaper
Swaddled tightly in that baby blanket.
Under a tall palm tree.  
Away from the scorched side
That I had burned the month before.
I only had boys after you.
I think you would have
(Loved life) Loved them.
You are only 10 months older
Than your oldest brother.
I still have your baby book
All the notes I wrote for you.
I stopped writing in that book
The day before I had you.
There are no words to say
Nothing that could've been writ
That I haven't said a million times
In my mind and heart daily.
Mine were the only arms that ever held you
Mine were the only eyes that seen you
I will carry you with me every day of my life

I hate ceramic Cherubs.
They remind me too much of you.
You never had a chance to live.
You didn't have a proper death
Beneath the rain stained ceiling
In that ramshackle shack.



I have lost 2 babies. One was stomped out of me at 7 months. One that I miscarried.  

I personally would not have an abortion but I feel that every woman has the right to choose. I will never judge.

I have seen too many women have spontaneous abortions. One memorable one is a 13 year old who delivered a baby at approximately 20 weeks. I intubated and used a resuscitation bag between her legs because the baby was only half delivered. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child's waist. She didn't survive.

The fetus starts developing the heart, spinal cord, kidneys etc... at about 5 weeks, at 6 weeks the heart starts beating, the baby can have hiccups, **** on their hand and grow fingernails.

I feel very sad that some women don't carry to term. I have had a lot of patients with Down syndrome. They are filled with happy love. And give the most loving hugs. But most also need lifetime care. (Unless extremely high functioning) who will love and protect them after the mother is gone? These are valid thoughts we women have. Not just about the wellbeing of the young baby but the adult child.

I have also supported women who via ultrasounds/sonography find that the baby has Anencephaly. This is not such a rare thing as people think. No brain or the skull is open. The prognosis for a baby like that is typically less than a day after they are born. Some women want to carry to term just to hold their baby. Some women choose to abort.

My sister had a Anencephalic baby. She found out at almost 6 months. She was injected with seaweed to widen the ****** and to absorb the moisture in the ******. Basically killing the baby with salt and suffocation. Then the baby was removed in pieces. I did not tell her the details of what was happening to her body. She would have been traumatized more. And honestly? She wouldn't have wanted to know.

I think the majority of women that choose abortions mourn their child. Your body is  forced into thinking it had a baby. And most women go through a period of postpartum feelings including depression.

I worked for years in NICU. A neonatal intensive care. Some babies were born at 1 pound or less. The thing about working with pediatrics, neonate in particular, is that you see some horrific births. Chromosome anomalies that don't survive to even childhood. And the traumatized parents are heartrending.

Sorry for writing a book. I feel passionate about this subject. I will stop here
I was married at 14. A choice my mother made to emancipate me from the courts as a foster child.
Dike Aduluso Jan 1
It came from cloudless blue
No herald of its fall
Was served as heaven’s brew
To quench the thirst of all
To give to morn its dew
And cause to tiller’s prance
To wet dry ground anew
With peace, joy, song, and dance

A peace of spotless white
Urged warring halves to join
As weary eyes did sight
The gleam of nature’s coin

A joy of love’s consent
Burned bright from empty core
As ailing nose did scent
The rise of petrichor

A song to woe's distaste
From voice of grateful praise
As thirsting tongue did taste
The ale of favour's daze

A dance of festive tier
On soles of arid sores
As shutting ears did hear
The tune of Angels' scores

A comfort so surreal
Set last of five to race
As numbing nerves did feel
The warmth of wet embrace

It came from cloudless blue
As touch of God’s good hand
To bid fierce drought adieu
With child for barren land
Who looks not to years past
But thanks the Lord laid bare
Having found at long last
The one for whom to care
Dike Aduluso Dec 2018
There was once a drought that thundered through the land
It stormed from north to south sparing neither head nor hand
It came on the heels of may, to rob fields of their right
Giving hunger to day then taking respite from night

Sun came and moon thereafter, time and time again
Yet the skies yielded no answer to the outcry of men
‘Cause fortune did reject the farmer’s desperate plea
For sin of thankless neglect towards soil of sower’s glee

Clouds massed in mocking grey, winds whispered hopeful lies
Telling of a better day when we would hear the heavens’ cries
Such was the willful drought that ended harvest’s reign
Starving land of fruitful sprout till Mercy brought the rain

I should say no more of the gloom through days of old
But with words long withheld, tell of that which should be told.
Bethan Roberts Aug 2018
Bright from the wine-dark womb the world
Is light itself, and the fingers of the newest covenant
Flower like petals.
She comes forth like a promise
Between legs that bore her;
Her cord has not yet been cut into the kiss of Cain,
And the secrets of her origin cling tight
To her flesh. Her chest heaves
Its first breath out of the blurry brightness,
******* in spirit from the dead air.
She holds for a surprised second,
Then throws back her rose-crowned head
And cries.
Mike Chigo Mar 2018
In the wake of Dawn
She cries and moans
In her womb was a little one
Alas she’s delivered of a son
“Welcome My Boy to the World”

He finds comfort in her warmth and
Finally decides she should be Mom
He looks around with dreamy eyes
Straight into her tear filled eyes
He cant understand what was wrong
But ‘tis her way of showing Joy
“Get Ready for Life Boy…Get ready”

In comes a man who embraces Mom
Carries him up and says praise to God
The way he smiled says he was Dad
He felt so strong to be in these arms
And slept hearing these words twice
“Welcome To Life, Welcome To Life”
This was my very 1st complete poem. I wrote this when I was 17
It's early yet,
the month is one
You can't see me,
I've just begun
I'm so small,
I don't have to hide
I'm just a tiny seed inside

Four weeks later,
the month is two
I'm still small but,
a part of you
Mommy you'll love me,
wait & see
I'll make you so proud of me

Time is passing,
the month is three
Now someone can see me!
My hair will be brown,
my eyes blue
Mommy is gonna love having me too

It's getting late,
the month is five
Mommy just killed me,
I'm no longer alive
Abortion is the name you give it
It takes your life before you can live it

I want to be born,
the month is six
It's already done and can't be fixed
Mommy didn't love me,
she threw me away
Shell never forget me,
in her mind I'll stay

I've got a new home,
the month is seven
I'm not with my mommy,
now I'm in heaven
I would have been beautiful,
but now I'm gone
Only a memory left to carry on

If I were around,
the month would be eight
Mommy would have loved me
but now it's too late

Goodbye mommy,
the month is nine
I could have been born,
it would have been fine
Though I'm in heaven,
I often still cry

Mommy, why did you make me die?
I know this is a controversial topic, but please no negative feedback. Not everyone agrees on this topic, and.. That's OK. Not everyone has to.
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Don't tell me I won't understand life
until I have birthed life.
I understand life
and the compassion and passion that comes with it.
I know it through my love and care for my baby bunnies.
Through protecting them, feeding them, nursing them
and then parting with them.
You do not need to be a mother to adore and respect life,
you need only be human....
my ability to breed has nothing to do with my ability to love
Francie Lynch Nov 2016
Every minute
One thousand empty mouths
Are born into poverty.
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