"aborting" poems
Conflict is trauma promoting trauma
Conflict is love becoming blind to one's inner beauty
Conflict is wasting moments of growth
Conflict is hating self, and showing others how much you hate self
Conflict is aborting peace as you choose to birth evil
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 2:22 PM UTC
Did you know?
Did you hear?
Were you told?
About the love story of the sun and the moon,
And how the sun died each night just to let the moon breathe.
What has he done to prove his love?
Or were those endless nights all enough?
Talking about a future that he would work on and walking up to ***** just like any other time.
Did he prove how much he loved your pretty soul?
And that never again would he allow you to have your unborns killed?
Did he ever stop you from aborting?
Or even decline to be the father?
What has he offered that we can compare to the sun?
A bouquet of flowers?
A glass of champagne?
Or were you just a trophy girl that he used to magnify his earnings?
Did he tell you not to answer Katherine’s call, his secretary?
Or did he remind you of the Sunset Resort where he was busy ogling at other ladies on their bikinis?
What does he remind you of?
Of endless love or of being a concubine?
I tell you, I will remind you once again,
Of the story of the sun and the moon.
How the beauty of the moon was the pride of the sun,
And how much the stars shied away admiring their love…
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
in memories of the dearly departed.
He said that he felt like crying,
but he wasn’t going to cry
Because if he did,
he might not like the taste of his tears
Those loose cells in the tears
is mostly of his mother and father.
He resented them for not aborting him
He wishes that he was never was born.
Due to the facts that all his life he was scorned
He was in and out of intuition
Always in a state of confusion
Month too months he never saw the sun
He never felt the rain upon his face,
Only long session with the nurses and the
Physiatrist who thought of him as a disgrace
He recalled taking the train for the first time at age fifteen
And that didn’t turn out as expected,
He wets his pant, so he sat in his seat and slaps his head furiously
He was spanked by the nuns, ridiculed by Sister Margaret the head hunter,
Got a huge ****** thermometer roughly up his **** by a big black dude
Suffered daily due to his severe autism behaviors
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
of all his childhood abusers:
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
Sitting here writing some of my most inner thoughts and feelings
with the padlock closeby, I am scrawling in red ink in that I visualize as blood
my inner thoughts and understandings of life
while the clock ticks away the meaningless minutes I have wasted into writing about my days
I have wrote about my happiness and wrote about my saddness
the things that makes me cry and wish I would die
and the motives of why I even stay alive
I told about the day I tried blasting my brains out, but couldn't pull the trigger to try
I've told about the man I murdered
He'd shared with me everything and I couldn't bare him finding out who or what I was
Now his blood screams from the ground, crying out to me
and I take up alcoholism as a job, a worthwhile profession to comfort me
I have told about the pregnant girl on prom night
who was stuck, wasting away wishing she could party that night
who was thinking about self aborting her child, motherhood she dared to fight
until she felt her son kick and she sobbed, tears that she tried to fight
I have told about my first love
my first kiss and how I felt higher and more pure than a dove
i told about my grandmother and how she taught me that "god is love"
switching to blue ink now, because blue is for peace
I signed my name at the bottom of each page
saying that I have become stronger with each turn of the page
I no longer feel that I have to shove the whole canister of anti-depressants down my ribcage
I wrote with red ink scrawled in blood
that was full of agony,anger, and regret
Finished in blue because I found a happy place,peace, and acceptance
I lock the padlock onto it, in order to protect my secrets
and I stop the clock by taking out the batteries to remind me that my life isn't ruled by human time
and I smile as I look into the fireplace, at my book of secrets, finally erased.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
When I was young, my Sunday school teacher said that my prayers lacked genuine emotion. She told me to try praying with a blanket wrapped around myself and my eyes shut to imagine that God was there holding me.
I always wondered why God wouldn’t actually hold me. I still do.
And I know that I have a lot of expectations of God for someone who doesn’t believe in God but my hope has been so hard to let go of.
But if we are made in his image, why should anyone let their hopes get so high?
Do you know how to keep a stranger from crying?
Do you know how to mend the bullet shaped holes in your mother’s voice? Of course not.
Do you know how to end a war?
Do you know how to be content?
Do you know how to be happy?
I imagine that sometimes God gets unhappy.
If we are made in his image I can only hope that he continues to evolve as we do, allow his followers to evolve as the world around us does because I swear I will lose my **** if I see one LGBTQ+ youth commit suicide. If I see another woman get kicked out of her church for aborting the child she couldn’t afford to raise. If I see one more country start a war over what they believe; God, can you see?
You’re tearing us apart.
You’ve turned humanity into a human race.
You’ve turned our earth into a military base.
So please, God, give us something to trust. Give us your saving grace.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
well... technically every *********** is an abortion,
i have it all the time, but when a woman has it,
esp. a Russian orthodox rich girl
it's time to call the Mamelukes
because "a mongol horde is invading",
there was nothing legally binding me
to alimony payments, no marriage
certificate, but my friend,
you meddle in other people's private life,
think you're the man with a career
in law but end up staging
your little: the judge, the jury the executioner
in your bedroom? FORGET IT!
you're just a lawyer, a scavenger,
you don't get to play the game 'who's your daddy'
so easily... you think you're allowed to provide
the architecture of a courtroom in your bedroom...
you're wrong.
take your little orthodox russian *****
with my ******* son and live a long life...
i asked her: i don't mind using condoms,
she said, ********* into me, i'm on
contraceptive pills... two apartments
in St. Petersburg and getting a degree in Edinburgh
you think she's poor? doubt it,
i'm not going to be a ploughing work-horse...
and forging your attempt to placebo the pills with lies...
all that feminism and still the russian
girls think they're killing a human being...
but like i said: the bladder and the ****
develop outside the womb, well brain too,
but the **** and bladder are more important
for the ***** what you're aborting
is just as much a tadpole as a fishy stink;
is your argument caused by the fact
that you gave the Star of Bethlehem to Jesus
and not Joseph because of Mary's fancy
for a centurion? it has to be! way-hey mainstream,
give it to the kid and you get Freud...
god i hate Freud... not because he's a jew,
it just made the whole being born a neurosis,
you need test-tubes, surrogate mothers, IVF,
two Elton Johns to not feel a stigma...
even if the world is harsh on you and you end up
living with your parents... mother *******
if they all adopted the Caesarian technique of giving
birth there would be no Freud;
well say goodbye to Darwin with that...
obstructing the Caesarian intervention with Genesis quotes
will still produce heads sticking out of vaginas
and by god that's no Michaelangelo.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
I killed some baby
Birds
In 1974, eleven, ten years after I was
One and Innocent and my chubby
Fingers probably looked like fat
Sausages to the birds
Tormenting me
Mama bird, frantic, chirping and
Flying in my blonde hair-space
Something worm-like crawled into my
Existence Heart Soul Stomach Nothing
Better than a poke in the eye
Unless you’ve wings that haven’t
Been fully tested
Chirp squawk squawk Chirp
Some kids too far away,
Yelling Hey what the heck’re you doing
You shut up and mind your own
Bees had no wax that day for me
Stick in the safe confines of the picnic
Non-shelter gutter enclosure straw nest
Aborting a beautiful winged thing months
Weeks
Frail little ungraceful bodies
Fell from a height unseen
Landing in ****** puddles
Mom-bird aiming her beak at my own
Eyes swollen and wet, seeing the
Damage I’d manage to inflict
With absolutely no reason as to
Why? On that horrible-
Day and confused, Why?
WHY Did I DO that?
Oh God I’m so sorry
I killed something only Your
Hands could have Present-ed
To our world
Behind me, birdsongs flew, invisible
Wings echoing
Down endless dark corridors
Of my mind
I ran the gait of cowards,
Crying, awkward, stumbling, falling,
Skinning the guilty knees of the man
Inside my conscious who’d taken
Temporary refuge in his wanderings
I cut between yards I promised I’d never cut
Again
Son what’s wrong why’re you crying
I sobbed the evil man out of me, his
Residue falling in salty tears
I did a bad thing, Mom
Tell me what happened. Get it out of you.
Some birds, baby birds, were chirping
Yes. Go on.
I took a stick.
I feel my Mom flinch as if struck with a
Sharp pointed wooden object
Oh no…
And I killed their song.
And their ability to fly.
Oh, my son…
And Mom simply held me, drawing out
The rest of the wild
Spontaneous impulses
That possessed me on that awful
Day I killed the baby birds
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
An anxious amortal
archnemesis
affectionately
allowing an amoral
animosity
achieve an attitudal
agressive and aversion against
any and all
annoying,
aggravating,
afflicting,
and almost annihilating
alliterations,
although all
aforementioned actions
are absolutely
artificial.
An amiable
abomination
and architectural abuse
at an alphabet achieved
after aesthetically
arranging ample
arbitrary
alternatives alone,
amounting an acclamation.
An affinity at
awkward avante-garde arts
arising at
an astronomical acceleration,
aside an archaic
argumentum ad
antiquitatem argument
awfully appraising
an atheistic and agnostic
apparition,
anthrophomorphically
alive and apparently
alright after asphyxiation,
alluding an astral authority
absolving accusations
and all allegations.
An advantageously
astute and adroit assassin
always actively
acting and assaulting
alone, ain't assisted
anyhow,
already
antiquating auxillaries
altogether.
An alliteratious afterfocus:
Aborting all anticipations.
Anticipating affirmative antagonizations.
All are alright.
Already airtight.
Adios, amigos.
Author: anonymous,
an acorn-afflicted,
assassinatrix affiliate.
attributed as Agent Argent.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
Defending all her reasons
Incredibly illogical
They cycle with the seasons
She’s terrified of listening to anyone who notices her crumbling psyche
That’s why it is likely
She’s in sequence, there is no real defense
I wonder if I’m right will she confess it in the present tense
I wanna know why its so impossible now
That her disorder is actually still lingering around
But when subjective absolution comes into the picture
Its hard to understand why she’d deny the scriptures
Of the cobweb concrete convex cortex
Infinite contraction of the brain mountain vortex
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
I don’t care if James Joyce forged her polygraph
I don’t care if Andy Warhol wrote her epitaph
I don’t care if there is nothing left
She’s the most complete person I have ever met
Living without undeniable evidence
Sleeping on top of mechanical pressure pins
Learning to vindicate absolute evil
I wonder how long it will take to make medicine
There is no cure for diseases like these
Only research that robs the last shred of my sanity
I could be vivid when I sell my sympathy
Argument solid I’ll sell it as therapy
Insanity, closure, illusions confuse her
A buffer for paranoid silent attackers
Sentient fiction a battle with friction
A story redundant with each new rendition
A messianic prophecy a weight upon her shoulders
She’s trying to be with someone who cannot even hold her
She treats me like I’m just another one in lin
She makes me feel like I’m wasting her time
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Fellow Americans
Won't is not can't
We can end this tirade
This ignorant rant
******* crusade
This fearmongering
Xenophobic campaign
This point your fat finger
Take none of the blame
This **** flinging ape
This bombastic baboon
Rotting all of our brains
Like a ****** cartoon
This email distraction
For no course of action
Except the word "jobs"
And a Twitter war faction
This sick, twisted joke
This comedy act
Dropping the curtain
On matters of fact
This tax-dodging fraud
Has stolen from you
So what makes you think
You're a part of his coup
This billion-airhead
Makes no cents at all
He speaks his small mind
Behind a big wall
This nuclear bomb
To diplomacy's voice
Aborting the right
To democracy's choice
This false god complex
Disguises his devil
Deceptions to drag us
Back down to his level
This Molotov cocktail
In Putin's back pocket
His greedy heart froze
In a cold-plated locket
This coal-blackened soul
Toxic demagogue
Keeps poisoning us
By spewing speech-smog
This climate change hoax
Outweighs all the lies
Deny this one truth
And everyone dies
This you're fired show
Outsources our trust
To Chinese steel towers
Of slave-labor rust
This loaded handgun
To sanity's head
Depravity bullets
Promoting bloodshed
This locker room talk
This all Muslim ban
This election is rigged
This ******* madman
This antithesis
Of all we stand for
Great from our first steps
Onto Liberty's shore
So I beg of you now
Vote him off of the stage
This dog's had his day
Put him back in his cage
This nation was founded
By working together
And those who attempt
To divide us shall never
Condemn our ideals
To an amoral fate
Lest we forget
That love always trumps hate
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Grandma may you continue resting in peace
Don't wish to wake up coz you will find this world in pieces
Dads are sleeping with their daughters
And mothers are twerking on their sons amid laughters
The grave is comfortable
Since our world has become unsuitable
Men falling in love with males
And their reunion chronicled like tales
The world you left has gone to hell
Their nothing positive in this rotten world to tell
Young girls aborting
High school kids burning and rioting
Mass killing all over the globe
Assasinations without probe
If you resurrect you would wish to die again
This world is run by a slogan of no pain no gain
Immorarity is on rise
And the mortal are doomed to pay the price
Just stay in the grave
This world is no longer for the brave
Technology has taken over
Governents have been thrown over
Blood is flowing in gallons
Convicts are waiting in gallows
Humanity has been compromised
The poor have atrocised
Don't get tired of lying there lifeless
The living are also dead they are life less
Selfish and proud
So hold your horses and stop wishing you were around
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
There were times I thought
about not thinking about it,
aborting its fruition.
One final hug,
one final glance,
the marble floor colder than before.
And that was it.
What felt so foreign felt so adoring,
what felt so right was so wrong.
My soul a frozen climber clinging for life,
unaware he’s freezing.
Starting first in his knuckles,
spreading through his veins,
finishing in his heart.
It was snowing,
two,
three feet at a time.
Each snowflake staring at me in desperation,
tacit gasps dismantled by the concrete.
if only I heard their heckles,
their pains,
their signs,
their wisdom.
What astute advice they gave I’ll never know,
but I thank each one.
I found love,
and gave it back.
Studied myself, and came right back.
It became its own fruition.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Marbled in my decisions
I was still
grounded
I found my way around the corner
as the road steered me to a new dimension. Reality wasn’t real before.
It was just my hologram
Standing before me.
I mastered you.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 9:38 PM UTC
Foment in a sea of green
With torment in its tail,
Writhing in performance
Wrenching in its flail.
Rationale cavorting
In ocean lost to foam
With rank and file aborting
Its chaotic flight for home.
Truth defiled to window
Pride divorced to flaw,
International prestige lost
To reputation’s door.
Pitiful to spectate
Administrators fawn
As those, once great, capitulate
To observation’s yawn.
America capitulates
Sunk beneath the waves
As pinkly, pouting proffers
It tweetingly depraves.
Once great, to teeter terrified
On brink of void’s abyss
I see dead eyes, expressionless,
Lurch on to farewell’s kiss.
M.
Observing, in horror, the demise of something once…. Great.
Taranaki, New Zealand.
25 October 2017
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
Right wing ******* shine,
**** all those confused mothers,
That's what Christ would do.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
Passing puddle after puddle,
chasing girls I'd love to cuddle.
But nothing is my option as
I walk past the growing grass.
The sun is blocked, the clouds feel
mighty as the supporting pillar
mightlessly tries, aborting his fighting squeal.
The stranger, the stayer, the stronger and stiller.
I worry a lot, for unpassed moments,
pages unreached. She says it's my fault.
In our stars it was written.
Now I feel cold, I guess I am smitten.
It started raining, feelings, cropped,
come out all at once, it finally stopped.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
i have these papers
i hold this pen
my smile tapers
i think of my friends, my kin
but this paper remains blank
my mind spaced out
i miss it my frown sank
it gave me things to write about
relapse means everything
i know to take this route
but i feel my will power aborting
the offers, the pressure
but still my will battled
my strength i treasure
but still this goes untitled
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
guilty guillotine
cut the cordiality
decapitate my capital
bereft of debt but dead
sins cashed out
at the redoubt
the readout states
he served the state medium-well
high stakes games
never play out
prime timely
passed the ball before his
(half)time trials in the hall
of Hades' heroes
trophy case cages commemorative
accompanying accommodations
on company A's dime
dyed (c)ammo/comedy gold
commies died in red tape
holding back third wave
tsunamis made by little boys
and fat cats in league
of farms with the pigs
beating b(l)ack the blue
in the faces of pro-testing
human lives in danger of
aborting the right to ask
who's right?
__do not collect/make cents/money ☞__
unmarked graves
poor marks/low grade
explosive yields in fields of
gilded grain against woods
buying forests by the tree
swaying serenely, at peace
like only broken bodies can be
felled for freedom from failed
harvests, too costly
inflating lives now worthless
revolutionary's revolting; reminding readers
read the red print
for Jesus wept
'cause Lazarus died again
and this timestamp
demarcates the end
of resurrected american dreams
democracy demands your undecapitated capitulation
live free™ or die
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
human life, the humanity
of unborn babies
all our lives in this early
state
moral difference
die naturally,
proactively ending
sanctioning destruction
to save life, dangerous
territory
moral distinction
aborting for direct benefit
aborting for vague and indirect
purpose
saving lives
the cost of destroying
noble ends do not justify
any means
great promise
great peril
great care
I pray
we wait for the
Amen
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
Just like everything worth remembering happens
When nobody is recording,
All the conversations worth time and effort
Are the ones we are aborting.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC