#fetus
I'm growing, I know
how to do that, though I'm not --
fully myself yet.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 2:29 AM UTC
I am
the highway tunnels drilled in your gums
from when your baby teeth plucked themselves out.
I am
the **** rotting on the bed,
whose gelatin you flayed off with your rusted spoon.
I am
the accused with his bounty price
plastered across the billboard sign.
I am
the dying fetus
jutting her head outside the womb.
I am these tributaries — these waves that thirst — which, at first glance, don’t connect. In time, they will prove
that humanity has claimed territory in them.
I am the mouth, drooling forth my mountain water.
This larger lake! I shall never see beyond it.
I am not the fifth dimension, where the sky hangs its hook.
So what?
I have its might. I am the colonizer in its territory,
and I claim it.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 5:18 PM UTC
feelings are in me
i either talk to them or ignore them
but they never ******* leave
they never let me grieve
they pop up n try to deceive
i slap them but they seek revenge
i hold them accountable
but that inflames their tendency to avenge
either they are on maximum volume
or on zero, it's like a child in a womb
festers and seeks nutrients from within
as if i am their mother and a walking bin
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 3:43 PM UTC
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I bring to you a sad affair
Someone who evokes such fury, yet one who faces deep despair
For this, the accused who faces death, or lives according to your decree
Who makes no statement with dying breath, yet silently invokes her plea
What crimes are done by this lost soul, what evil deeds did she aspire?
And where the witness of her death toll, the evidence that guilt requires?
No crime recorded, no victim slain, no trace of ****** or robbery
No voice of condemnation raised, none here to force a guilty plea
She has no wrongs in her short life, has no deceit within her soul
No hurt has she, nor human spite, no determined selfish goal
But one accuser, here today, one joined in life and woven fate
This one though will have her say, and claim the life she helped create
This witness claims to suffer pain, and a prison, should the accused survive
That her life will ebb and be restrained, and sadness would always reside
For some accusers have been defiled, by monstrous beasts of lust and hate
Others young and so beguiled, are induced by charm, so participate
Others spy disease and defect, and cry acts of mercy to prevent
They choose to extinguish and protect, rather than one day regret
And then are those alone who strive, who cannot toil with life's results
And so instead, they choose their lives, and cry for freedom do exult
But where in these stands the accused, silent and awaiting fate
Her breath and freedom she is refused, for all the reasons the witness states
Is she alive, does she have form, within her soft and warm abode?
Where her heart beats, and fingers form, and from miracles she is wove
Was she not also one defiled, is she not young and helpless too?
Would malady she reject, and death instead would opt to choose?
And would not her life loneliness cure, and make a future with great light?
And comfort one who gave her life, and join her purpose true and right
For the accused can offer more than this, should she be allowed today to live
Has so much that she can share, so much love and joy to give
For in our world, where children die, through hate and fate and evil men
We cherish those we lost too soon, and yearn to see our child again
But what of the accused today, what future do we her deny?
A nurse, a doctor or a friend, a mother of so many lives?
How sad the accuser, so resolute, yet desperate to belong
In a world where our rights are so absolute, that they obscure the wrongs
And what she gains through this sad act, she loses so much more
A legacy of love and hope, a daughter who will adore
And so good people of the jury, I ask that you reflect
Upon the life of this dear child, so amazing and perfect
For my client has committed no crime, no evil deed or word
Is blameless and so innocent, and would not have caused this hurt
I ask therefore for mercy true, that her life be now redeemed
That she might live, and love and learn, and so pursue her dreams
"Your eyes saw even the embryo of me." - The Bible
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 6:43 AM UTC
She never wanted to be a Mom,
and now her life is nothing but wrong;
What will she tell everyone she knows,
maybe she'll wait until she shows?
~
The Fetus who slumbers in her Womb,
one day will be running out of room;
She must Abort this one in her,
for shame she simply can't endure.
~
She makes an appointment at the clinic,
know one must know, no one must see;
She arrives the next day, still so unaware,
that her Fetus is growing, lots of hair.
~
They lay her on a Hospital bed,
where soon the Fetus will be dead;
The Doctor inserts a clear, long tube,
where it wreaks havoc, within the Womb.
~
The baby moves away from it,
it feels like she has just been bit;
Upon her face, there is a scowl,
it's much too late to turn back now.
~
The hose clamps on to her very, small hand,
the Fetus can't cope, nor understand;
It pulls the hand right off the arm,
yet Mother thinks she did no harm.
~
Next it grabs onto her hip,
and her tiny leg begins to rip;
Emersed in pain, she pulls away,
she'll not live to see another day.
~
At last it latches onto her head,
the heartbeat stops, this child is dead;
She smiles, her reputation intact,
a conscience is one thing she lacks.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
Legs spread, mind scattered
Organs decay, insides battered
The thought runs wild
“did it even ever matter?”
Blood pours, like wine
Ripe berries, already burst
“Childs joy was never mine"
Tears follow, a mother cursed
Blood fills the floor
Search begins for something more
Ripening fear begins to mild
Dire sorrow fills mothers core
Lifeless child, fresh of womb
A mistake, time has forgot
Too ripe, child now faces tomb
And a sorrow, mother lays distraught
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
With the moon glancing into my window
And a quilt hugging my body
The wind moaning
And whistling
I become a ghost
Hovering
Through
From one world
To another
Evaporating
into a
new womb
Ready to be again.
-Sindi K.
@Sincidyy
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
she kissed her knees
waiting for the wind
to take her slowly away.
yet the hands of time
were far too patient
making her stay.
she was in pain
and way too
lonely
and yet
she never wanted company
just the storm
and she
doesn't deserve it:
neither the rainfall
nor this draught.
she kissed her knees
and whispered
out of new words to pray
"please."
she barely even muttered
"just take me today."
hands pressed tight together
and lips trembling shut
kissing her
wet and salted knees
with her back against the wall
facing a hard place
a dead end
to a thousand feet freefall
and rock bottom...
to dust.
she kissed her knees
with closed eyes
and an open wrist...
waiting for her tears
to slowly drown her----
with one more
shattered bottle
beside her
and one less
plea to say.
"just take me away."
she kissed her knees
and she hugged her legs.
all soaked in her own waste
and her own faults
she nods her head
totally out of lies to
chant herself asleep
until she gnawed herself
downwards
six feet deep.
she never became a
failed adult
because life blew up
in her face so suddenly
all she is
is a shattered child
waiting for life
to spew her out.
she kissed her knees...
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
Conceiving you felt like death.
Slowly drowning in despair.
The pressure rising to my head.
Only in my womb for a month,
Longing for a mother
That wasn’t actually there
I heard you crying in anguish
It mocked me continuously,
You felt contaminating.
I sank to the bottom,
Laying there, lungs filled, bursting in pain
A dark presence swept over me.
There are a million ways to bleed and
You were gutted out whole
No sea water but my own tears.
She took you from me.
Or
Did I take you away from myself?
Regret and
Heartache
Paralyzed me
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Take my fetus and go
Through and through the mighty seas,
Cleft of stubborn knocks and the bayonets
Rocking through and through the eves. Whose pirouettes and epilepsy crooked, Asunder, blessing the attenuated biology of Say, a field mouse or the hummingbird. What nuisance it transcends itself into. How It has marred even the plight to lock oneself In that windowless box of time. The Atemporal box featuring those curious amaranthine engravings about its sides, upon its top. Though the blood may not spill from side to side, and while the nellypot may collywaddle, there is an immense sincerity akin, fused afore to the intimacy of an authenticated orphic boketto.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
This earth is actually 1 nation,
It is 1 complex society.
My compatriots,
They don't desist from being real *****
My countrymen,
They spit phlegm on any public road.
My landsmen,
They bias against the ladies apart from ****** them.
My fellow humans,
They break all of the traffic rules.
My own friends,
They have been so imperfect.
My friends are my world,
And I am not proud of this world.
I am an idealist who never had them,
The mythical permanent friends.
The human society is full of bigotry,
I read about female exploitation.
This awful male-dominated society,
I am amused on its insecurities.
That unlucky unborn female foetus,
I mourn its ****** before its birth.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 6:35 AM UTC
LIGHT, dreary light, on a plaza, surrounded by
unexpectedly hopeless hope. And you, stubborn man.
This plaza is a placenta. And we are
the fetus that can never get out of
there. The maturity of pregnancy, and we
are not ever dare to actually be born.
If our mother dies, dry the umbilical cord.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
He like her an art
was a nether from the start
that noodle never plunder
this message from his splendor
and virtual ****** in time
that relish his heredity
an embryonic boy wonder.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
An eye within my eye
like a fetus in a womb
It cannot see what I see
for it was created
not for sight but, for lies
like a special child
it was an exceptional eye
like an eye that will stay awake
until the end of time
the time, that is mine
and this time, only mine
-Kaya
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
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
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC