My Journey

We come Those of us who make it through That tenuous canal Fraught with more peril Than ever before Compliments of those Who deem us Mere jetsam To be jettisoned For any whim In any month Of the nine Combined with normal exigencies Create a journey Which is both Physically And mentally Exhausting How do I come to such knowledge You may ask We have ways Far beyond human comprehension Of communicating With each other We, the fetuses (As ordained by those Who not only permit But encourage Our demise) Who have navigated Within And been nourished By The vessel (We once called them "Mother" But ceased to do so When we were roundly dismissed As "Fetal tissue") For ninety days Know our rights And yet Our voices Alas Cannot be heard I, however Am seven months along My peers, jokingly, Refer to me as "Einstein" Not without merit I, modestly, admit For I did design The apparatus I am using To print script Which outsiders (As we call humans) Can comprehend I have two more months Until I am free Still, I cannot rest Easy For my vessel Is a single woman Who could decide Legally As current laws stand To have me BUTCHERED If, however I should survive That which I never asked for To begin with I vow I shall Someday Tell the story Of my journey To all the world Pray I win Please Kindest regards Timothy PS Please force Every vessel To view the sonar Before they terminate The fetus Perhaps that act Will cause them to See us as Babies And allow us to Once more Call them Mother