Abortion Poem: Words

ABORTION PIECE

by: Jasmine Nicole Mans & Alexis Marie

It rained last night.

And I know you could have sworn you saw my face in the rain.

And every time it rains near by I want you to imagine that’s how it would’ve sounded if I cried

I held my stomach thinking about how this pain is sucking the life out of me,

Bout how I paid $300 to get you sucked right out of me.

I’m sorry that my womb had to become a tomb bearing yours dreams that will never exist

Believe me when I say I let the tears you would have cried come alive in my eyes.

You do not know how many nights I screamed I’m sorry

to the skies, hoping that you could hear me

They say blood is thicker than water.

But Blood can never be thicker than my fetus slaughtered

Sucked out of you

Stopping up toilets of hospital restrooms

How could you

But I wasn't ready.

Heart pumping heavy with mistakes,

I’d rather have aborted you than have grown to become the mother you hate.

Because holding you and holding grudges would have become symmetrical

Vacuuming my insides of you.

Worthless like last night vegetables.

Just tell me

Are you happy now?

Because for the rest of your life you will be haunted by the illuminating essence of sun light

Because every time you have the ability to see yourself

You will know what I look like

God knows what you’ve done

He wrote you messages in the form of lightning.

Perfectly scripted letters against gray sky's,

How many times do I have to cry through the sky for you to realize

Momma we never had the proper goodbye?

Goodbye

I’m sorry for wrapping my virginity in a blanket and leaving it on God’s doorstep,

Hoping that he would find you because honestly I knew I didn’t deserve to have you.

Can you hear the sound of my grandmother humming as she clutches rosary beads close to breast?

Spines erect, infants walk upright up here.

Imitating the life that you never allowed me to have.

Looking down on mothers like you,

Who cradle their swollen bellies pregnant with broken dreams.

Your gums, suckling on old teenage love songs.

Ma, You disgust me

I can tell by the way you hold your purse you’re still a baby.

But since when does that give you the right to abort your only baby?

I was forced to grow old with fresh milk still crusted above my lips

And I thought, “Maybe if I bob my head a little harder, I could suck his soul from him.”

But swallowing his future never guaranteed that I would be a part of it so I choked, gagged, coughed up generations of broken Brooklyn back alleyway babies that were never able to make their way out my womb.

You don’t know how many times I slit my wrist in honor of you

I do

I know that you never look in the mirror because you’re afraid to see my face

But how can you continue to breathe knowing that you buried my cradle 6 feet

You cut my umbilical cord because you could never let me swallow what you eat

My vagina bleeds your tears

Exposing my true fears of your existence

You know the doctor told me you grew fingernails

And every day I feel the scars of the letters you’ve carved

And I hate myself for letting people come so far inside me they can read them

It rained last night.

And I know you could have sworn you saw my face in the rain.