Cries of the Unborn Child
Why can’t I live? I’m just an embryo, yet I’m faced with this sick death without a trial. What was my sin? Am I not good enough? To at least see my parents face. To feel my mother’s warm embrace. To take my place, in this world of love and hate.
What have I done? Did I invade your womanhood and trespass into an untimely surprise? Why did you summon me if I’m not welcome? Living must be really costly because I’m the one paying the price.
And tell me, please, what about my father; was he pretty slick? Excellent with words? Killing you softly with his song? Which one was it, “hold fast til I come?” And now you’re pregnant, the only thing being held is me. For ransom. I can’t help but wish that he was the one on death row.
And what about you, dear mother. Are you just a woodpecker? Who mistook monogamy for mahogany? Living life straight up reckless, trying to be young, wild and free? Free of this burden.
My life’s on the line as I call out to you.
“Hello, can you hear me? Say something. Please…”
Whatever the circumstance, or reason may be. Before you erase me from your memory. I just need to know…
Why? Why me?
