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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required What makes you human without your limbs, Human without your nose and toes – What makes you human without your ears Makes the unborn me human without your form. Yes, it’s my essence, not form, which counts: Be not liberal in defining gender yet conservative in defining life. By one sentence do mass killings in the world and womb begin: “They don’t look like us and don’t act like us: they’re not human.” Today, I heard hushed voices say so – then came a sharp pain. How I wished sweet mum or the doctor would come: I little knew they were here and directed the attack. “Et tu, mama? Et tu, doctor?” Dying words, I uttered. “Your life is not good for ours,” they said. Out of my cradle they forced me and whisked me past the world into the grave. “It’s my body, my choices,” I heard mum say. Yet I challenge not what she does with her body but with mine: It’s “my body, my choices” after all, in this her world. My flesh is aborted but not my voice; lend it your lips, for mine are gone. Then, perhaps, the unborn shall like the dead rest in peace some day: Not belittled, not assaulted, shielded with concrete and taboos… Behind me gut microbes swarm and play where side by side we formerly lay. Now mum’s cuddly flesh they enjoy better than me -- They must think they’re her babies and me the intruder.
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