By Oana on Friday, 04 May 2012
Category: Poetry

Anger

(c) 2011 by Oana 

 

For years now my unborn son has followed me

I don’t need to see him

I know he is there

He just shows up

Been trying to explain to myself and to him certain things

He never wants to listen

He covers his ears

He ignores me

He follows me in the most unexpected places

Hugging my pillows, hiding behind me when I go on dates

Dismissing all men as unfit and stupid

“Look at this one,”

“He looks like Death, how can you like him?”

My son cries

“You can do much better than this”

My baby won’t stop crying 

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