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
Copyright © Ben Burton | Year Posted 2016
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