Seventy-seven percent of anti-abortion leaders are men. 100% of them will never be pregnant
Okay, so yesterday the assignment in creative writing was to write a poem about a childhood memory that you buried, possibly traumatic. Well, I don't have any of those, but I have been rehearsing a monologue about abortion. So I wrote an abortion poem.
It was an accident.
We hadn't meant for
it to happen.
But it had.
I found out and
cried.
He found out and
yelled.
I had to take care
of it.
It was my fault,
after all.
So I did.
It was done.
Quickly and quietly.
Now I am broken.
Dead and buried.
Cut and carved.
And he doesn't care.
But he doesn't know,
how it felt,
how I felt.
Hope,
that I wouldn't be alone anymore.
Excitement,
that I would have someone to take care of.
Now I feel nothing.
Emptiness.
Hollowness.
I had something beautiful,
something wonderful,
something to be proud of.
He gave it to me,
and then he took it away.
I can't even cry,
can't scream,
can't moan.
There is nothing left.
They took that out of me too.
Leaving only an
empty
shell.
It was an accident.
We hadn't meant for
it to happen.
But it had.
I found out and
cried.
He found out and
yelled.
I had to take care
of it.
It was my fault,
after all.
So I did.
It was done.
Quickly and quietly.
Now I am broken.
Dead and buried.
Cut and carved.
And he doesn't care.
But he doesn't know,
how it felt,
how I felt.
Hope,
that I wouldn't be alone anymore.
Excitement,
that I would have someone to take care of.
Now I feel nothing.
Emptiness.
Hollowness.
I had something beautiful,
something wonderful,
something to be proud of.
He gave it to me,
and then he took it away.
I can't even cry,
can't scream,
can't moan.
There is nothing left.
They took that out of me too.
Leaving only an
empty
shell.