Every minute
One thousand empty mouths
Are born into poverty.

Staring into their eyes,
Longing for the other
Sharing their aches, but never saying why.

He whispers, "You are the only one."
And he means true,

She replies, "I love you."
And she is truthful.

When the dawn comes, she is on a bed,
Breathing labored, and in pain.
He holds her hand, in such agony
At not being able to help more.

The fevor spreads,
And life is anew,
While she faded.
He holds the new life, and cries terrible tears.

"You are the only one left..."
He whispers to the child.

But he sees something,
The love that she showed him,
And that child, is the only one important to him

It feeds and grows within the host;
It stretches the skin and swells the belly;
It dwells as warm as buttered toast,—
This toothless pulp of genes and jelly.
It soils the lair in which it lives
And wallows there within the waste;
And not a single **** it gives
That *** is an ever-present taste.
It sickens her and spends her strength
And causes her, the host, dismay,
Till it outgrows its den at length
And exits in a dreadful way.
And where the creature takes its leave
Is almost too terrible to believe.

O.O

Everytime a guy asks me what I prefer in a woman
They normally ask me if I like the front or the back
But honestly I think class is what's lacking
I don't judge a woman by her body
I think her personality is really what matters
I know we men would be angry if a girl asked another girl if she liked guys with a Maserati or a Ferrari
Not all of them are about money
That's when you know if she's really your honey
She doesn't except to take your money and run
You can get fired from your job and have your car get towed
And she'd still offer you a ride home
Isn't that funny
She wants you to get the hint and you still react like nothing has happened
Ain't it frustrating to be a girl
Not wanting to come off as desperate, but you desperately want him to see
What it could really be
Going through all the crap and still wanting to be with him
That's a real woman
That's what I want
A strong woman who puts up with my stupidity and still sticks around
With no possible reward to be found
The real jackpot is having her instead
Any woman like her is a lottery
Just make sure you treat her right
And be there for her when she's giving birth to your children
If you ask me, I wouldn't of made it so painful
But the pain is a little easier
When you're holding her hand and refusing to let it go
She'll remember that forever
Only being glad she decided to have kids with you
Just remember that when you **** her off
And you're sitting there with dozens of beer bottles on the floor with a few empty Doritos bags
Eating till you become dizzy
Regretting that you made her mad
And she let's you suffer with no response on your apology calls
We all make mistakes
But make sure letting her run away from your life isn't one of them

You start trouble, Ovaries. You usually cause:
“I just got my period,” or
“I haven’t gotten my period,” or
“ I have the worst cramps.”
But you’re complicated. We don’t really think about that.
I’m here to say, Ovaries, your trouble is of importance.

You’re part of our own big bang theory.
Some people think it’s a religious miracle,
Most just figure it’s pure science,
But in a way we most don’t understand
You mixed your matter with its male and made a
Completely unique planet.
Earth’s atmosphere could be all Carbon Dioxide,
And my sister could be blonde with a sweet disposition.

Matter can’t be wasted, just changed, and I don’t think
Your eggs are either.  I estimate sixty eight of my oocites, my essence
(those are unfertilized eggs, like the ones sold in a store)
are floating in sewer systems through the US and Limoges France too.
Ovaries, there’s no need to worry: that’s sixty eight out of a million
In each of you! I couldn’t waste you if I tried.

Before the internet or on-demand TV or iPhone apps
You figured out how to sift through the most complex data in the world:
Millions of options of human DNA. How do you pick?
You’re the Netflix of humanity.
You’ve chosen people of all roles for us to watch, to love, to care about.

I waited for your faucet to switch on until I was thirteen, ovaries.
Now I wait, usually with dread, but sometimes with a little hope,
For the drop that’ll turn some water and flour into leavening dough.