If my sons wanted to return
to their mother, there is no longer a place
for me to keep them warm, sheltered. No
womb to shield their tiny bodies
from the callous, calculated criminal
world that I should have considered
its cruelty before bringing such beautiful
beings into being. I grieve for my sons. Their mother
castrated because healers are no longer
healers. Butchers. The healing arts conduct
Capitalist business for all possible profits
to please CEO’s and personal expense
accounts. Boys, your mother was aching,
sick and poor which lead to profound
pain of being dissected, disembodied, disavowed,
decentered. Her pocketbook kept her
marginalized. She sought help
assuming the Hippocratic Oath
didn’t make of those who take it
hypocrites. She was sorely mistaken, by-effect
became systematically sterilized by the privileged
order of prefixed names. They told her
it needed done: she would have a better life
if she sacrificed her sacred womb. Now, children,
all she does is mourn the loss of your first home.
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[…] If my sons wanted to return to their mother, there is no longer a place for me to keep them warm, sheltered. No womb to shield their tiny bodies from the callous, calculated criminal world that I should have considered its cruelty before bringing such beautiful beings into being. I grieve for… — Read on disdainfulbeauty.wordpress.com/2015/03/05/baby-bone/ […]