Collection of 38 Abortion Poems That Get You Feel Sad & Guilty

Abortion is a reluctant choice of a mother when she does not want the presence of the child in her body. To come to this decision, the mother had to fight mentally, tormenting herself to take away the life of a baby. Mothers who choose to have an abortion are often faced with feelings of grief, shame, and guilt.

A woman after an abortion needs some time to heal her physical wounds, but the mental scars and torment will never fade away. Here, we oppose abortions in today’s society, which is an inhuman, and unethical choice. Children do not have the right to choose the woman who become their mother, but they have the right to be born and lived.

The abortion poems collected and posted below will help women wake up, realize the awfulness of abortion and the importance of a child when being born. As a result, they can make the right decisions for themselves and also help women around them.

1, Lovers Of Abortion © Holuwa Pamilerin

You are the Beast
That dwells in human form
You can’t save
But only kill

For the death of the unborn childs
Heaven is bursting with pain
Earth is drowning in its tears
You didn’t even give them chance

Chance to see the beautiful world
Chance to see the stunning moon
Chance to see the pretty sun
Chance to live a purposeful life

You’ve conquer their courages
And kill their dreams
For great are your sin
You’ve purged their happiness
And turn their mood to a sorrowful one

2, You Were Right! © Isibonile Tshireh

You were right when,
You said I’m nothing!
You were right when,
You were accusing me about your loss!
You were right

You were right
Right while you were raping me!
While shouting me as if I’m,
Abnormal!
While sending people,
To force them selves in Me!

You were right

By killing my feelings
By killing my thoughts
By killing my mom
And by breaking my heart

You were right!
You saw an animal in me
You saw a dog that has no home
Oh!No you’ve ruled my life
You’ve massed up my life
But you were right

You were right

Right by forcing me To do an;
Abortion.
Right when you were trying to change
Me into a prostitute
You were right

3, My Mom © Stewar’t Mabop’e

You’re The Reason Why I am Breathing Today.
You Went Through Pains Just For Me.
You Conquered Abortion Spirits.
What Kind Of Heart Do You Have?
Is Your Blood Circulating Like Others?
You Took Me From Nowhere To Be Somewhere.

Through Difficulties You Never Turned Your Back.
Do Not Die Anytime Soon There’s Exceedingly
Gigantism For You.
Your Love Always Brings Endless smile On My Face.
Your Character Matches Your Heart.
The Powerful Strong Women.

The Only Fundamental Person In My Life.
Pockets Are Empty But The Mind Is Prosperous.
My Mother is My Protection!
My Mother is My Heart!
My Mother Is My Warrior!

4, Abortion © Aldrin

You said you were pregnant
Or expectant
I couldn’t hold my tears
The bubbles of happiness were bubbling
With tears I said she will be a girl
A girl and we could name her after my mom
The ideal of being a dad made me proud
I felt as if I own the whole world

I had found an enzyme to make me active
But all over sudden you destroyed my world
Why did you abort?
That innocent creature but why?
Was it because you were rich and I was poor?
Was it because you are a daughter of a priest?
And your mother is a police commander?
You killed my child
You destroyed my sole hope
The child who could help me

The abortion was a success
You have retained you figure
You look more pretty
But your heart is rotten and empty
You have zero emotions
We were all grown ups
I was ready to sacrifice for both of you
Surely why did you abort?

5, Broken Home © Silas Tersoo

My heart is like a broken home
Father drunkard
Mom a harlot
Elder brother a cultist
Younger sis a slut
My heart is a broken home.

My life is like a broken home
Father stays out late
Mom invites men to the house
Younger sis is pregnant with nobody’s child
Elder bro’s girlfriend just had an abortion.

My dreams are like a broken home
Mom and dad fight everyday
Mom nags at dad
Dad hits her in anger
Elder bro hits dad with a club
Younger sis stabs him
There’s blood everywhere
Mom yelps and collapses.

My story is like a broken home
Mom dead
Dad dead
Elder bro in jail
Younger sis in a slut house
And me?
I’m behind the scene.

6, Dear Baby Unborn © My Heart

Dear baby unborn,
You came out of the blue.
I took a pregnancy test,
And then I knew,

My world turned upside down.
Inside I could feel you;
It made me smile,
But part of me knew I couldn’t keep you.

You became my world.
I would talk to you hour on hour.
I grew to love you.
I wished the decision was out of my power.

See, I wanted to be your mum,
I wanted to keep you safe,
I wanted to hold you close,
I wanted to be the one you depended on.
For a second I thought I could do it.
I thought I could be the one,
I thought I was ready for it,
But in just two days you were gone.

You see, mummy loved you
With every part of her heart,
But Mummy knew that we were better off apart
Because Mummy couldn’t give you the life that you deserved.

There isn’t a single day
Where Mummy doesn’t wish that she could reach up
And grab you back down to earth,
Place you safely back in Mummy’s tummy,
And show you how much you’re worth.

Smiling is hard without you.
I grieve for you every day,
But this was my decision,
I chose to let you fly away,

Fly away with the angels,
And look down on me from up above.
Understand my decision, baby,
Wasn’t done through a lack of love.

I loved all that you were, with every part of me.
That will never change,
You will always be my first,
My baby unborn at 65 days.

7, Abortion Of Female Foetus © Devajit Bhuyan

Abortion of female foetus in India is still common
We must stop this dangerous social venom
Law is there to stop this crime and social evil
But some people are dangerous than devil
Greedy doctors are doing this job with zeal;
Rape, abortion of female foetus are social issue
There are people who encourage sati system for virtue
Wife beatimg by senior policeman is real and true
Brides lost their lives for dowry without any clue
The new generation will remove nexus of socio-religious glue.

8, If It Was A Girl Her Name Would Have Been Rose © Street Journal

I bruised after you left.
I mourned after you left.
I didn’t mean to take you away.
I was young and confused and I didn’t want to disappoint my family.
I was not ready to hold a flower-like you in my hands
I was not ready to be a laughing stock to my friends.
You were innocent and I was not ready to be a mother.
I am sorry my dear little one.
I was not ready for you.
You came at a point where I was getting my life on track.
With every celebration, we had sex.
We were too irresponsible not to use protection.
Sleep, sleep she’s coming back.
I pressed my thoughts on the pillow.
I swam naked in my tears,
I cried holding my tummy hoping you will come back.
I was afraid to face my fears.
I was afraid to be judged.
One quick thought sprung to my mind.
“Abort, abort, abort”
The silent screams fill my head
The calabash gets filled with remorse.
I walked home, smiled when my mother asked me if I am okay.
Laughed when my little sister said I am losing weight.
You were gone.
And I smiled like everything is okay.
A few months later the pain continued
I lost you, and I lost him too.
I found him on the bed with another girl.
He said sorry, but I know he didn’t mean it.
I am saying sorry to you because I mean it.
There is no difference between him and I, we just monsters who decided to abort you.
Sorry my little one, to bring my problems to you.
I will face the sunny days while you will be in the darkness of my shame.
My parents remember how I was born, I will remember how I let you out too soon.
Regrets fill the cup of tea.
“Ma, a month ago, I did abortion”
The news broke her,
She told me she was going to support me no matter what.
I let you out too soon because I was scared of something that is not there.
I don’t even know your face.
The child that cries every night in my dreams, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me
You lived inside for two weeks.
I didn’t care about you, but what will people say.
I am sorry
My womb is a graveyard,
My dear child, I couldn’t even give you a tombstone.
He left me, just after I aborted you.
I am sorry
If you were alive today, you would be three and your name would have been Rose.

9, The Right to Choose © Unknown

This is to all the awful men
Who want to take away autonomy,
From all the women of the world
With their “save the day” philosophy.

Women should always have a choice,
Not restrained by the hands of politicians;
Nor ruled over by a faithless voice,
In the name of a false religion.

These self-righteous, so-called Christians,
With calls for violence and division,
Try to silence the best of women,
When it was never really their decision.

So, despite what others say to me
I will stand by mothers faithfully,
For the right to choose what they believe,
And seek their fucking rape relief.

10, The Mother © Gwendolyn Brooks

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?–
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.

11, Nature’s Law © Robert Burns

LET other heroes boast their scars,
The marks of sturt and strife:
And other poets sing of wars,
The plagues of human life:
Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and gun
To slap mankind like lumber!
I sing his name, and nobler fame,
Wha multiplies our number.

Great Nature spoke, with air benign,
“Go on, ye human race;
This lower world I you resign;
Be fruitful and increase.
The liquid fire of strong desire
I’ve pour’d it in each bosom;
Here, on this had, does Mankind stand,
And there is Beauty’s blossom.”

The Hero of these artless strains,
A lowly bard was he,
Who sung his rhymes in Coila’s plains,
With meikle mirth an’glee;
Kind Nature’s care had given his share
Large, of the flaming current;
And, all devout, he never sought
To stem the sacred torrent.

He felt the powerful, high behest
Thrill, vital, thro’ and thro’;
And sought a correspondent breast,
To give obedience due:
Propitious Powers screen’d the young flow’rs,
From mildews of abortion;
And low! the bard—a great reward—
Has got a double portion!

Auld cantie Coil may count the day,
As annual it returns,
The third of Libra’s equal sway,
That gave another Burns,
With future rhymes, an’ other times,
To emulate his sire:
To sing auld Coil in nobler style
With more poetic fire.

Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song,
Look down with gracious eyes;
And bless auld Coila, large and long,
With multiplying joys;
Lang may she stand to prop the land,
The flow’r of ancient nations;
And Burnses spring, her fame to sing,
To endless generations!

12, Abortion © Mohammad Akmal Nazir

The blow was very cruel,
The bud could not blossom,
It died underneath,
And who cares?
The loss was a tribute
To the overenthusiasm of sowing the seeds.

13, After the Abortion © Charlotte Puddifoot

Another would-be life slips down a hospital sluice –
a mangled tangle of tissue, a broken bouquet of limb buds.
Carmine carnage reduced to simplistic statistic.
But these hospitals are blanched mausoleum-white,
operating slabs are sarcophagi, stirruped legs are strung high

and a crimson slurry seeps from between splayed thighs.
Death-pimp doctors are gloved and gowned, loom imperious,
assume arrogance and surgical masks of indifference.
Feminine thought frisks to freedom now:
the biannual foreign holiday, career climbing and the company car.

Birth is an inconvenient blip on the social calendar.
Huddled horror-mute before my Philips flat screen last night,
peering through the fretwork of my fingers,
a sickening sea engulfed me; vertiginous waves
breaking on my body’s shore, faintness flooding my head.

Today, I cannot elude my abhorrence;
it overshadows me, obliterates former complacency.
Tonight, people will be on the pull in club-clotted towns
and bedsprings will squeak a soulless sound
as more life is made to be taken.

14, Don’t Forget That I Was Here © Sophie R

I know that I can’t stay here,
but don’t be sad for me.
I’m at peace with this decision;
I just wish that you could see.

Treasure moments while I’m gone.
Don’t be sad that I am leaving.
We’ll be together one day.
Till then, just keep believing.

I know days go so slowly,
But understand it’s not the end.
You know I’m watching over you,
You feel the comfort that I send.

Don’t forget that I was here;
You’ll never be alone.
The time will come eventually,
And then I will come home.

I hope you find your happiness.
As days go by, you’ll see,
Remember, though we’ve said goodbye,
It’s not the end for me.

15, My Unborn Love © Dimplez

The day I found out about you
I didn’t know what to do.
I broke down and cried
Because I knew I couldn’t have you.

I went home that night
More scared than ever.
I fell asleep holding onto you
And you made me feel better.

I woke up the next morning
Saying good morning to you.
I ate a full breakfast
So that you can be full too.

During the weeks I kept you protected,
Kept you warm and safe from the unexpected.
As I laid holding my belly, looking at the moon,
I realized, my baby, that I have fallen in love with you.

My son, my daughter, my unborn love,
You are a gift sent to me and daddy from above.
I have learned a love like no other
And that’s the love between a child and mother.

Baby, tonight is my last night with you.
Tomorrow you will be with someone new.
His name is GOD and he is expecting you.
To my unborn child who I will never get to meet,
I hope when you’re in heaven
You will forgive daddy and me.

I love you and I’m sorry.

16, What It Was Like © Catherine Klatzker

The world was always a place of silence,
of congenital shame—even before those days
in 1967, four years before you met your love. Your
strength grew belatedly, fertilized as it was in the

knowledge that you were nothing. Your life did
not matter to anyone, except to hurt you.

Every time you awake in your hospital bed
men in white say, What did you do? Tell us
what you did! Did you try to abort? Every time
for five hemorrhaging days, you say you

didn’t do anything. I did nothing, you protest.
You deny the criminal abortion. A policeman

stands guard at your door. Surreal. Angry
doctors shout at you, demand your statement
of guilt. You are bleeding out in a Sacramento
public hospital. Transfusions of living blood

finally drip into your veins, saving you for the
confession they expect, to have you arrested.

Don’t tell. Never tell. The fallback admonition
learned in your father’s house—now useful again.
Dime-sized white tissue passes, and a D&C
can be done. An angry medical resident scrapes

your uterus, no medication: You don’t deserve meds.
You agree. You are nothing. You feel nothing.

You go into the wall. Surreal. Voices and images
of other women and girls billow from the walls
around you and you know them, their voices
are your own, sharing something you cannot

name, and you claim them: your witnesses, your
delusions. Thirty years later, in the nineties, you
blurt out to your partner that I almost died one
time, from a criminal abortion. Watchful, you study
his face for the disappointment you expect, the
judgment, just like the men in white, that you are

the lowest of the low, not worth the life of a zygote.
The silence between you stalls and ripens. His voice

chokes when he at last speaks, You must have been
so alone, he says, and you wish you had known him
then —impossible, but all the same. He has always
seen you. His innocence didn’t need your

protection. You didn’t need your old shame.
It is safe to stand up and speak.

17, The World Where It Is © Beth Spencer

1

In the atrium of the principal church
in a certain Irish city
it is said a girl can find beneath a bench
among the tea roses the name of an abortionist.
She need only bring a scrap of paper
and a bit of char to rub. No one knows
who carved the name, or when,
only that the woman is reliable
and clean. If asked, she will tell you
of her years in the convent laundry,
her escape, her apprenticeship to a man
from London. Her fee is small,
and she hums to put her clients at ease.
A melody they cannot quite remember after.

2

All methods have a failure rate
said the nurse, and asked if I could scoot
a little farther down, my feet in warm oven mitts
snugged over the posts of the exam table.
I recalled the methods that had failed me,
including ‘wishful thinking,’ the most recent.
The aspirator tugged a bit, like a small cramp.
I thought of the flowers my friend had brought
when I told her I was pregnant. Daisies, each petal
a choice spreading from a yellow wheelhouse of choices.
She, a mother of three from a huge extended family
whose connection and liveliness I admire.
But I, a solitary sort, have never wanted such a life.
I am grateful for her friendship, also my childlessness.

3

Listen, a desperate woman will do what she must
whether it’s legal or not.
Go abroad or up a filthy stairwell off an alley,
eat poison, work a hanger into her womb,
take all her pills at once
& pray to the goddess of miscarriage,
the one whose chariot has a broken axle
but excellent shock absorbers.

The ground between the sides has no median strip,
it’s a faultline where one can fall through
for failure to follow through, as a friend once said.
Still, I stand at the sideline, taking notes
the way I used to take histories
of the patients in the clinic where I worked.
I find I cannot hate the shriekers,
I wish they’d just go home.
They are as enraged about abortion
as I am about the killing of wolves
out here in the west, where men drive trucks emblazoned
with signs that say Wolf Management Plan:
Shoot, Shovel, Shut Up.

I say wolves–& bears & old growth forests–
deserve to live as much as humans do,
that we need to better love
what is already here. Remember Rome’s oldest story–
a mother wolf gave suck to human twins,
charity we’d be wise to emulate.
Stop war. Feed people, plant trees, build schools.
Spring the traps.
Make places for women to lie down in safety
to end what sometimes must be ended.

18, Cry Of An Unborn Child © Gabrielle Kruger

For My Mommy (the cry of an unborn child)

Hello Mommy, this is me, your baby-
I’m just a tiny someone,
Floating in your tummy, feeling snug and warm.
When God made me, He gave me a soul
And sent a special angel to look after me
And an angel to look after you, too.

I’m growing a little bit every day,
And soon I’ll get my own fingers and toes.
Once my ears have developed properly,
I’ll be able to hear the sound of your voice.
Please Mommy, don’t let them hurt me-
I’ll do my very best to be good.
I just want a chance to live my life and be someone special in yours.

I’ll make you breakfast on Mother’s Day
And draw pictures, made especially for you.
I’ll sing loudly in my first school concert
And try my hardest at everything I do.
There might be days when I’m a bit naughty
And make you scream and shout,
But I’ll also give you plenty of hugs and kisses
To cheer you up when you’re sad.

Oh Mommy please, just give me a chance…
We don’t need to live in a big fancy house,
And I don’t need a room filled with toys.
All I ask of you is your love and a chance to love you back.
I want to be able to call you “Mom,” and hear you say I’m yours.

I long to feel the grass tickle my toes
And the warmth of the sun on my back.
I want to experience the excitement of my first day at school
And the joy of playing with my friends.
Don’t listen to the voices saying it’ll be easier when I’m gone.
God chose YOU to be my mommy,
And He chose me to teach you about LOVE!

So please mommy, don’t let me down.
I know God and His angels will help.
Be strong for me… hold on to me…
You’ll be grateful in eternity!

19, The Gift Of Life © Marni Fults

I received a gift from a stranger,
A stranger I did not know.
I had heard his name before,
But just in passing, so I let it go.

I did not think it was a gift,
But rather a terrible burden.
They said it was nothing I wanted.
Of this they were certain.

I was told it was something bad
And more than I could bear.
No one mentioned it was precious.
It was as if they didn’t care.

I sent the gift back to the stranger,
Where it came from up above.
If only I had met him sooner,
I would have seen the gift was made with love.

Instead, I treated the gift like it was nothing.
I quickly sent it back.
They told me I did the right thing,
But they left out an important fact.

See, the gift was made just for me by a stranger,
And God was his name.
I had never even noticed him,
Yet he loved me just the same.

He had created that precious gift.
Each piece he made by hand to my surprise,
And yet I didn’t even see it.
My life was based on lies.

When I found out what the gift contained
And realized I had thrown it away,
I believed I would always suffer
And be punished every day.

But to my disbelief, that stranger,
Who I had ignored and turned away,
Created three more gifts for me
And sent them all my way.

I begged for his forgiveness.
I prayed and felt his love.
I wondered what had become of the first gift
Sent from above.

I later learned the gift would remain
With our loving God and then
I would meet my baby in heaven
And receive the gift again.

I have no fear that I will not know
Which gift was meant for me.
So many have been thrown away,
But mine I will surely see.

For I have dreamed of my little boy
Whose eyes were big and bright.
I will run right over to him,
And know him at first sight.

I will say, “Mommy loves you!”
I know that is how I’ll start.
Then I will thank God for taking care of my baby
While we were so far apart.

If I could just help one person
See their gift contains such love
And that the life inside that little gift
Came from God above,

It would honor my precious baby,
Whose life was lost to a lie.
It would stop the suffering of another child
And a mother who would otherwise be too scared to try.

20, The Commination © Alec Derwent Hope

He that is filthy let him be filthy still.
Rev. 22.11

Like John on Patmos, brooding on the Four
Last Things, I meditate the ruin of friends
Whose loss, Lord, brings this grand new curse to mind
Now send me foes worth cursing, or send more
– Since means should be proportionate to ends –
For mine are few and of the piddling kind:

Drivellers, snivellers, writers of bad verse,
Backbiting bitches, snipers from a pew,
Small turds from the great arse of self-esteem;
On such as these I would not waste my curse.
God send me soon the enemy or two
Fit for the wrath of God, of whom I dream:

Some Caliban of Culture, some absurd
Messiah of the Paranoiac State,
Some Educator wallowing in his slime,
Some Prophet of the Uncreating Word
Monsters a man might reasonably hate,
Masters of Progress, Leaders of our Time;

But chiefly the Suborners: Common Tout
And Punk, the Advertiser, him I mean
And his smooth hatchet-man, the Technocrat.
Them let my malediction single out,
These modern Dives with their talking screen
Who lick the sores of Lazarus and grow fat,

Licensed to pimp, solicit and procure
Here in my house, to foul my feast, to bawl
Their wares while I am talking with my friend,
To pour into my ears a public sewer
Of all the Strumpet Muses sell and all
That prostituted science has to vend.

In this great Sodom of a world, which turns
The treasure of the Intellect to dust
And every gift to some perverted use,
What wonder if the human spirit learns
Recourses of despair or of disgust,
Abortion, suicide and self-abuse.

But let me laugh, Lord; let me crack and strain
The belly of this derision till it burst;
For I have seen too much, have lived too long
A citizen of Sodom to refrain,
And in the stye of Science, from the first,
Have watched the pearls of Circe drop on dung.

Let me not curse my children, nor in rage
Mock at the just, the helpless and the poor,
Foot-fast in Sodom’s rat-trap; make me bold
To turn on the Despoilers all their age
Invents: damnations never felt before
And hells more horrible than hot and cold.

And, since in Heaven creatures purified
Rational, free, perfected in their kinds
Contemplate God and see Him face to face
In Hell, for sure, spirits transmogrified,
Paralysed wills and parasitic minds
Mirror their own corruption and disgrace.

Now let this curse fall on my enemies
My enemies, Lord, but all mankind’s as well
Prophets and panders of their golden calf;
Let Justice fit them all in their degrees;
Let them, still living, know that state of hell,
And let me see them perish, Lord, and laugh.

Let them be glued to television screens
Till their minds fester and the trash they see
Worm their dry hearts away to crackling shells;
Let ends be so revenged upon their means
That all that once was human grows to be
A flaccid mass of phototropic cells;

Let the dog love his vomit still, the swine
Squelch in the slough; and let their only speech
Be Babel; let the specious lies they bred
Taste on their tongues like intellectual wine
Let sung commercials surfeit them, till each
Goggles with nausea in his nauseous bed.

And, lest with them I learn to gibber and gloat,
Lead me, for Sodom is my city still,
To seek those hills in which the heart finds ease;
Give Lot his leave; let Noah build his boat,
And me and mine, when each has laughed his fill,
View thy damnation and depart in peace.

21, The Abortion © Anne Sexton

Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.

Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,

its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,

Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;

up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all…
he took the fullness that love began.

Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.

Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward…this baby that I bleed.

22, Happyily Born © Ahalya Nair

Through the screams of pain,
I heard a cry,
A cry that indicated a birth of a new life.
Sitting in the hospital corridor,
I could hear the cry of happiness from tiny lungs,
I could experience the same happiness,
The family was going through.
Yes a girl child!
I thought to myself,
She might be lucky,
She has a modern family who cared for her
Thank god! she did not go through the pain of being killed.
This world has learnt to accept a girl child!
I am happy………….

23, I Forgive u Mother I Hope y’All Forgive Urself © Unknown

U came back 4rm the doctor.
I could see how happy n excited u were.
U couldn’t wait 2 tell any1 abwt this little breath u were bringing on earth.
Iam 6weeks in Ur womb, already developing ears.
I heard the door open…Oh I eventually knew how things would be by de change of the atmosphere.
I heard both of u urging,I could feel the tension.
I asked u y u were sad but u couldn’t hear me.
The last word I remembered was “doctor”.
I was so happy and excited
I couldn’t put it into consideration.
I thought u were taking me there just to make sure that iam healthy and strong
I asked u y u were cryng but u couldn’t hear m.
I saw him coming,he asked u if u were sure about what u were about 2 do.
U didn’t say a single word.
He took me out by my little fingers.
He took me out of my warm pleasing home.
Before u conceived me,I promised my self that am gonna myk u proud.
I vowed not 2 dissapoint u.
My dreams of being the future leader were taken away 4rm me.
Before u conceived m God told me that you are my angel.
U were supposed 2 protect m n not 2 destroy m.
But now it is over.
Iam now in a better place.
Iam God’s little angel.
I forgive u mom.

24, A Baby View of Abortion © Yoonoos Peerbocus

I came as tomorrow
Swaddled in innocence
To your warm womb
Mother……
Without your choice
Or mine
Destined to up date
With time
Our human tree
But before love
Grew into flesh and words
What is unfinished creation-
A precipitation of blood
Became my transcendence.

25, Silence of the Womb © Deborah Ann Belka

My heart breaks,
for the unborn . . .
when from the womb
they are torn.

Limb by limb,
they’re discarded
little souls . . .
being disregarded.

My heart hears,
each tiny cry
as these babies
are left to die.

One by one,
tossed away . . .
in the trash
to decay.

My spirit grieves,
so much strife . . .
to stop the slaughter
of each precious life.

Oh, Lord Jesus,
hear my prayer
help put an end
to their despair!

26, Don’t Abort Me © Deborah Ann Belka

Don’t abort me,
I want to live . . .
there is so much
that I have to give.

Don’t abort me,
I have a soul
let me grow in you
until I am whole.

Don’t abort me,
I’m growing me some legs
I’m more than a blob
out of one of your eggs.

Don’t abort me,
see my tiny heart beat
if you will keep me
I’ll grow into my feet.

Don’t abort me,
look at what I can be
my eyes are forming
I can’t wait to see me.

Don’t abort me,
I know that you can hear
look what is happening
I’m getting me, my ears.

Don’t abort me,
my lips long to say
that I love someone
somewhere along the way.

Don’t abort me,
I’ll meet you halfway
put me up for adoption
just don’t throw me away!

27, The Lost Generation © Deborah Ann Belka

I am from the lost generation,
there are 949,479,786 in my group
and today I am speaking out for all of us
right here from Heaven’s stoop.

We are the sons and daughters,
who were never even given a chance
and we’re standing here hand-in-hand
spiritually united in our stance.

We will never feel our heart beat,
or hear our first cry at our birth
we will never know our eye color
our height, our weight, our girth.

We’ll never have our first boo-boos,
or get a kiss from our mommies lips
we’ll never get a piggy-back ride from daddy
or get carried around on grandmas hips.

We’ll never see a playground,
or the animals at the zoo
we’ll never splash in the ocean
or hear a cow go moo-moo-moo.

We’ll never learn arithmetic,
or be in a spelling bee
we’ll never play dodge ball
or giggle and laugh with glee.

We’ll never have our first kiss,
or fall in love with our soul mate
we’ll never have to worry about
our jobs, our homes, our fate.

We are from the lost generation,
we could have been moms or dads
but instead we were considered “tissue”
according to the abortionists labs.

But, we want everyone to know,
we are having an everlasting jubilee
for, up here in Heaven . . .
Jesus bounces us on His knee!

28, Abortion © Unknown

I heard of this world from where i come from,
Please give me a chance to explore,
I have longed to walk on this soil,
Please let me accomplish my dream.

O my mother mine,
For you were not persecuted by thy mother,
I will be punctured,
I will be torn apart,
My new bones will be broken,
My spick-and-span flesh ripped off.

I can’t voice out my distress,
For i am dumb,
But i speak with a heavy heart,
I don’t understand any language yet,
For i am deaf,
But when i heard “ABORTION”
I understood clearly because that’s the only reason i can cry in your belly.

29, Christmas Carols © Margaret Atwood

Children do not always mean
hope. To some they mean despair.
This woman with her hair cut off
so she could not hang herself
threw herself from a rooftop, thirty
times raped & pregnant by the enemy
who did this to her. This one had her pelvis
broken by hammers so the child
could be extracted. Then she was thrown away,
useless, a ripped sack. This one
punctured herself with kitchen skewers
and bled to death on a greasy
oilcloth table, rather than bear
again and past the limit. There
is a limit, though who knows
when it may come? Nineteenth-century
ditches are littered with small wax corpses
dropped there in terror. A plane
swoops too low over the fox farm
and the mother eats her young. This too
is Nature. Think twice then
before you worship turned furrows, or pay
lip service to some full belly
or other, or single out one girl to play
the magic mother, in blue
& white, up on that pedestal,
perfect & intact, distinct
from those who aren’t. Which means
everyone else. It’s a matter
of food and available blood. If mother-
hood is sacred, put
your money where your mouth is. Only
then can you expect the coming
down to the wrecked & shimmering earth
of that miracle you sing
about, the day
when every child is a holy birth.

30, The Lost Baby Poem © Lucille Clifton

the time i dropped your almost body down
down to meet the waters under the city
and run one with the sewage to the sea
what did i know about waters rushing back
what did i know about drowning
or being drowned

you would have been born in winter
in the year of the disconnected gas
and no car
we would have made the thin walk
over the genecy hill into the canada winds
to let you slip into a stranger’s hands
if you were here i could tell you
these and some other things

and if i am ever less than a mountain
for your definite brothers and sisters
let the rivers wash over my head
let the sea take me for a spiller of seas
let black men call me stranger always
for your never named sake

31, An Abortion © Frank O Hara

Do not bathe her in blood,
the little one whose sex is
undermined, she drops leafy
across the belly of black
sky and her abyss has not
that sweetness of the March
wind. Her conception ached
with the perversity of nursery
rhymes, she was a shad a
snake a sparrow and a girl’s
closed eye. At the supper, weeping,
they said let’s have her and
at breakfast: no.

Don’t bathe
her in tears, guileless, beguiled
in her peripheral warmth, more
monster than murdered, safe
in all silences. From our tree
dropped, that she not wither,
autumn in our terrible breath.

32, Motherhood © Georgia Douglas Johnson

Don’t knock on my door, little child,
I cannot let you in;
You know not what a world this is
Of cruelty and sin.
Wait in the still eternity
Until I come to you.
The world is cruel, cruel, child,
I cannot let you through.

Don’t knock at my heart, little one,
I cannot bear the pain
Of turning deaf ears to your call,
Time and time again.
You do not know the monster men
Inhabiting the earth.
Be still, be still, my precious child,
I cannot give you birth.

33, May the Child Be at Peace © Narrative Northeast

May the child be at peace.
May the child’s peace radiate to all in her grasp.
May the child’s peace radiate to all whose grasp she is within.
May the pedophile be at peace, and the coyote.

May the child soldiers’ commander be at peace.
May the commander’s arms dealer be at peace
and the arms maker
and the investor
and the pensioner
and the inventor of money.

And you and I, my friends, and you and I.

34, A Poem About Abortion © Unknown

In the glorious nation_ Nigeria
One abortion each break of a day
Has summed up to half a million
Occurrences of abortion each year;
Check guttmacher research record.

Abortion is life, life is abortion;
Abortion is an act so inevitable.
Thanks to our rising rates of abortion,
Poverty level would have crossed 33.1%
Boundary of the 2017 announced.

Abortion has denied us many terrorists to-be.
Abortion has availed us many bag-snatching souls.
Abortion has halted unborn scavengers to-be.
Abortion has so removed the headache
Of losers been born to build castles in the air.

But flushing is ungodly abortion.
But sprinkling is a godly abortion.
But fallowing is ungodly abortion.
But condom is a godly abortion.
But abstinence is ungodly abortion.

But spermicide is a godly abortion
And be it the godly or the ungodly;
Abortion is truly a friend in need
In this era of chronic cost of living
Where family planning is a radio gospel.

If we must call a spade a spade
It takes two to sweetly tangle.
Oh, ye sons of reproductive men!
Whatever cake you will not eat
It’s time to stop baking it
Leaving her to bear the blame alone.

But blessed are those doctors
Performing the hell of a yeoman job.
The bowl is now full of blood with floating eggs;
Doctor, you can now pull off your gloves
And lady, you can now close up your thighs.

35, Unheard Voice © Littin Thomas Modoor

Nine months are slowly getting close,
I am surrounded by the blanket of yours;
Slowly I am growing in your womb,
Please don’t send me to the tomb;
Oh mother, can’t you hear my voice?
Don’t you have another choice?

Aren’t you happy? You can see me soon,
I am excited to see the world of sun and moon;
In your womb, I am counting days,
To show you mother, my little gaze;
Oh mother, can’t you hear my voice?
Don’t you have another choice?

Mother, I am excited for my first toy,
I promise I will become your joy;
Please don’t feel me as a burden,
Whatever you decide cannot be undone;
Oh mother, can’t you hear my voice?
Don’t you have another choice?

I know you are waiting to see me play,
More than you I am excited to see that day;
Oh mother, won’t you start my life story,
Please don’t make my life a history;
Oh mother, can’t you hear my voice?
Don’t you have another choice?

I am excited to play in your lap,
With my deeds, I will make you clap;
Oh mother, give me a chance to live,
Even if you don’t, I will forgive;
Oh mother, my life is now a question,
Please don’t give it name of abortion.

36, Right Of Life © Ashley

Taken away because of the fear of responsibility,
Taken away and denied opportunity
Taken away so I could not be.
Oh, mama, didn’t you love me?

Taken away after a life so short,
Taken away and pushed to abort
Taken away so I could not be.
Oh, mama, didn’t you love me?
Couldn’t you see that I too, had the same right to opportunity?

I began to grow inside you,
I know you were scared,
But mama,
I was too.

Taken away because of your fear of society,
Taken away because it was against your sense of propriety
Taken away so I could not be.
Oh, mama, didn’t you love me?

Taken away and denied my life,
Taken away in such a strife
Taken away so I could not be.
Oh, mama, didn’t you love me?

You see, mama,
A life so short is not a life,
A life so short was taken without a possible fight
A life so short ended with no right.
Mama,
That was my life.

37, To My Angel © Tracy

To my angel in the sky
because of me you had to die
I was weak and selfish and now it’s too late
It wasn’t my choice to decide your fate
Now I will never see your beautiful face
and never hold you in my loving embrace
I’m so sorry, I know it was so wrong
You would be so beautiful, healthy and strong
You were a gift that I chose to throw away
and I’ll never forgive myself for that day
I love you so much and I’m filled with regret
August 12 I will never forget
One day I will meet you and hold you so tight
until then my darling
I Love you, sleep tight

38, What Could Have Been? © Jessica

She could have had my eyes,
his cute button nose.
But I took the easy way out,
now sadly no one knows.

He could have played sports,
maybe been best on the team.
But I took his life so quickly,
he didn’t even have a dream.

I could have been a great mother,
so much love and a lot of care.
But I killed my baby,
now I hold grief that I can not bear.