The hell, left for the wolves. Through black pits of tar my mind was dragged till up it came coated, dripping with muck. I viewed the world through the ooze where my thoughts severed and tore with disgust. I was appalled with what happened because what happened was appalled with me:

I was born.

She went to a church and she pushed me out of her womb, and without knowing what or who or how I would do, she left. She had her life on her mind, and I was in her way.

I still think about you, mother, I think about who you are, where you are, why you never came back to say, “but wait a minute, my baby…that’s my baby.”


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