I woke crying from a nightmare
where a baby laid in a trash can
unworthy to even recycle
worth less than a tin can
Her screams a mixture of hunger for both milk and mercy
Was she thrown there by the disappointed father who wanted a son
or laid there by the crying mother who knew death was gentler than life
Would kind hands find her or will her angel carry her home
Cold fingers of night strangle her,
nothing fuzzy
her blanket is the cold rain on her skin
Her sounds grow weaker
like your prayers for her
Where do you lay your head as hers fall under a layer of the trash
She is the birth of a woman’s beginning
She is the death of histories excuses
The hope she was to bring would have made beauty out of chaos and pain
cured the rips in the earth’s conscious
But her last breath just whispered a soft sound
And the best of what is left took her in soft arms
touched her with gentle lips
And turned away from us
the blind ugly that was left
I woke crying
My eyes opened to see
We are the ugly that’s left
I am a 44-year mom of three and a Nana to two.
I love to write, take pictures and dream.
I blog at Twistdbutterfly
Twistdbutterfly@instagram
Heartbreaking
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Poignant and a chilling reflection of this heinous social evil.
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Excellent poem deep insights & heart rending 👍🤝
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Reblogged this on Twistdbutterfly.
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