the burden of words unsaid

The burden of words unsaid is often ignored/ as a writer, I’ve become accustomed to the conception, the gestation & the sometimes gut wrenching labor that comes with the birthing of a poem/ many a time I’ve felt the initial excitement that comes with the inception of an idea/ the growth & discomfort in carrying a message & the painful satisfaction that is sacrificing what was once a part of me to the mercy of this world is an overwhelming profusion of emotion that, as of late, I have become all too familiar with/ I can tell you about birthing complications, when recessive syntax & cadence errors manifest themselves in a premature poem & even of the great lamentation that comes when a poem is stillborn & must be abandoned/ or the miscarrying of words that occurs when I just can’t seem to mean what I say & say what I mean/ I’m a writer/... I can tell you/ …About writing/ about holding a newborn poem, fresh, unedited swaddled in loose leaf/ but I cannot tell you the burden  of an unwed mother/ I do not know what goes on in her mind with one child on her lap, another steady growing inside of her womb/ she can barely support one, refuses to give away the other who for 9 months will be her inverted appendage, she avails herself to 2 options only/ keep him so that he can grow an inkling of resentment for every thing she cannot give him, relive a childhood empty of promise vicariously through this unborn son/ no, she says…/  I’ll just give this one back to God/ … & you talk about sibling rivalry… / I cannot explain the gaping black hole left by an aborted child/the tears of a mother trapped between the poverty of a rock & the poverty of a hard place/ I cannot tell you of unborn martyrs, of sisters sacrificed for the lives of their brothers, of baby boys given back to God with a receipt for all the firsts they never got/ I don’t know anything about the strained relationship between a mother & father that can’t help but see the child that never was in the face of the child that got a chance to be/ I cannot describe the pain in a man’s pride when he can only give one of everything in the world / I cannot tell you why the son you always wanted will never get a chance to see the sun or why daddy’s little girl will never meet her other half /why a little rain ruins the best of plans & bad things happen to good ppl/ ... I cannot tell you how this sacrifice feels…/ I can only equate it to a god asking his son to give his life for this lucky bastard of a world/ but I digress/… I know nothing of a mother’s last words to that little ball of cells unfortunate enough to be born second/ I am fortunate in that I am amateur enough to know nothing of the strength it takes to make such a decision/  & in no way am I drawing a parallel between aborting a poem & aborting a child/… I was just kinda thinking that considering the number of children born into poverty each year, maybe a responsible woman ought to have a choice as to whether or not she wants to add to said numbers… / all I’m saying is… they’re not all dime store whores flying by the seat of their g strings/ I was just kinda thinkin that the next time you wanna throw blood at the clinic you might wanna consider the one who abandoned his 33 year old son so that heathens like us could have a chance at everything we ever wanted/ because when has sacrifice ever been fair?/... I in no way condone death/ but I do support conscious minds & well thought out decisions/ …because nobody ever talks about the burden of words unsaid/ but I got a good 646 that say it’s time to start.