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Alex McQuate May 20
Time ticking down,
Like the guttering of a dying flame,
So close,
Can nearly taste,
Where you and me will soon be three,
When our son we can finally meet.

I can picture his little hands,
His oh-so little feet,
Eyes as big as plates,
So filled with possibilities and innocence,
A pitcher for you and me to fill,
With kindness and glee.

But it seems so far away,
Still seems like a bit of a dream,
That the hypothetical seems to still carry me,
On a cloud,
Gently floating,
On an azure dream.
I know your glow
it moves on tracks
of never-ending light

illumine, my dear glimmer

an ornament of love
spiraling along
flightpaths to each other

one maybe a failure in flickers

yet another a successful sparkle
drifted down gently as snow
about the tactile lanterns
of your hands and face

Joyfulgurl Nov 2022
I have a beautiful boy
And a body I don’t recognise  
I’m marked with lines like a map
That shows my journey
It was a one way trip
There is no going back

I have a beautiful boy
And a body I don’t recognise
That has gone through some resizing
But that’s hardly surprising
He needed the room to dance like he does
To grow and kick and move

I have a beautiful boy
And a body I don’t recognise
It’s aged and got tired
But that’s okay
I wouldn’t have it any other way
It’s worked very hard
to make those lashes
Those curls, that smile
That laugh
Zywa Sep 2022
The pain, the pleasure,

the ****** of giving birth:

fertility queen.
"Sprookje" ("Fairy tale", 1992, Kristien Hemmerechts)

Collection "Stream"
Oskar Erikson Aug 2022
                                the evil twin
                                             of pregnancy"

it made it something light.
this body
capable of non-sustaining warmth, only
                                                            ­  the last gasp of air.
you said
"Oskar don't hold onto"
awaiting your return.

left wondering, when?
will those annoying
pro-life people
come to say
the (orb) (of) emptiness (inside of me)
is something
worth carrying?

                                ­                       [    too long ago                             ]
                                                       [   pharmacies stopped stocking]
                                                       [   plan-b for                                  ]
                          ­                             [   men like me.                             ]
calendars above my bed
bag & behind an iphone screen
are just full of ex's.
working backwards trying
to pinpoint the due date and-

                                            my immaculate conception of heartache.

like any parent to be
be assured
it'll take nine months minimum
for me to come
to term.

                                    once upon a time all i could think about
                                    was keeping a piece of you inside of me.
                                    but now
                                    the memories: the entrance and exit wounds
                                    are all others care to see.
Zywa Jun 2022
Away with the vice

squad-patriarchy: I am --

Boss Of My Belly!
Action supporting abortion, by Dolle Mina ("Mad Mina") on March 14th, 1970, with the slogan "Baas in eigen buik" ("Boss of your own belly")

Collection "Mastress"
Stephanie May 2022
Miss Holly,
You would have had
Just the most beautiful smile
And the brightest eyes.
I am sure your laugh
Would have lit up my world
And I know our souls would sing
When we saw each other.

But I also know
We would have hard times,
Maybe more hard times,
And I don’t want to bring you into the world
To struggle, beside me.
Maybe we might have had
Good days and weeks, even months,
But I am coming out of
The hardest chapter in my life
And you are not the closure
This chapter needs.

I don’t know
If I will ever have children
Who live on this side of my mind,
But you will always live
Inside my heart.
<3 I am sorry the timing is not right, Miss Holly.
Monique Clavier Apr 2022
you caused this fire
with a dimpled smile and a plane ticket
can’t suffocate a blaze with a match
petrol running down my legs
wanna watch me burn at the stake?
7,000 miles of wildfires called me by your name

like a moth drawn to a flame
we kissed on the light up floor
your fingers inside of me, it was divine to me
surrendering my soul to my god
left my lipstick scars all over you

i ate the apple from the softness of your hand
our garden of eden was no holy land
i let you knock at the door of my spine
no malice in my voice, come inside
but baby, you weren’t expecting
me to multiply

like a moth drawn to a flame
i bit your tongue in the break of day
wanted to taste your blood for a change
nothing like a little emotional
devastation to get me through it

yell it más, señor
til your vocal cords are ******
oath taken in sacred silence
tragedy and insanity and is
it all a game to you?
because you hid while i sought
yell it más, señor
yell it más

and when i told you of the flower blossoming within
you cried like a boy for his mother
you see, there’s no way we can keep it
not for your career

and the next day on the 405
my soul wrung empty inside
suffocating loneliness, all-consuming
75mph, nearly opened my door
told my therapist i wanted the asphalt to eat me alive

they took me to the madhouse
while you had a pint and a laugh miles from my hospital bed
they said
“she wants to end her life with a baby inside, oh, what a terrible state she’s in”

the doctor watched me as i cried
with cigarette breath and roaming hands
forced the wand inside of me
at the same time i jumped over the ledge
and did you know i laid in silence
while he whispered in my ear

“good girl, it’s a girl”, you see, oh?
can’t you feel the joy?
of creating something like God herself?
like vines sprouting from the soil?
but Oceania, so much panic, yeah
too far, didn’t wanna come near
my ash-strewn wreckage

like a moth drawn to a flame
blazing light, burned just right
i wanted you to suffocate my pain
pretended it didn’t exist for our

transpacific love games
i’ll be Marilyn and you be Errol
the actor who can’t survive any longer
and the one who devoured a woman whole

yell it más, señor
oh god i’m bleeding on the bathroom floor
so much sacrifice for paradise
but isn’t this what it’s for?
tragedy and insanity and
oh no, it’s all a game, i see
yell it más, señor
yell it más

yell it mas, señor. a poem adaptation of a song of the same name that i wrote. also hello again hellopoetry!
CW: abortion, coerced abortion, abortion guilt, suicidal ideation, ****** assault by a medical professional

certain verses/choruses/phrases were changed in their entirety. this was completely a vent piece that i basically vomited onto my keyboard about an international long-distance, long-term relationship i was in, an unexpected fluke of a pregnancy, medical negligence/****** harassment, an abortion, the dissipation of his love for me, and the guilt that haunts me. not exactly a light read. BTW i’m 1000% pro-choice and am blessed that i was able to have safe and relatively easy access to a clinic following my termination. the guilt i feel for my abortion is normal for certain folks and does not mean that i did anything wrong. it was correct but the situation was traumatic
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