Particle of Dust

In 1965,
it would have been illegal
still, if my mother didn’t want me then
she would have stuck something inside to rip me out

All of the years would be flying backwards
to the night of conception
when i was only a particle of dust

i wouldn’t have taken a breath that could
have really lasted
blood would have been in every
gurgling
struggling
breath,

with much pain,
only who would have known
the intensity of it

i mean, when you are only
a particle of dust

my mother could have let
many months go by
maybe out of fear,
indecision

she was raised Catholic

i would have been the size of a barbie
not blonde
but skinny
compromised lungs

then she would have
ripped at me
with a hanger
or some other sharp object

or paid some back alley
butcher
to pull me out
in bleeding pieces,

i never would have seen
the sun
known it’s brightness
felt the warmth
and the heat,
ever sweated,

ever eaten a single thing
never laughed or smiled
or seen myself in a mirror
ever grown older
ever grown taller

but be that defining moment
of excruciating hours
love would not be comprehensible

nothing of love could ever have
permeated that shell of a body
but the hatred
the word would be the action

the killing of it,
lost fingers and toes
or are we not allowed
to think of that?

should i never wonder
if my mother never
loved me

is it simplier,
easier
when we sterilize it
wash the sin of it away

or so we think
pay somebody else
to do what we are too
cowardly to do ourselves

a mother is a monster
if she drowns all five of
her children in a moment
of a psychotic break
in a bathtub

soaked them all in
and forgot to let them
breathe
imagine them to be fish

when we legitimize it
make monstrous deeds
legal with just a few
corrupted signatures

i’m off the page,
the page would be blank
of the story of me

i think if i had no mouth
no throat,
no voice
to verbalize the screaming
sensations within me

slicing out eyes
and the heart pumping
blood,
it’s useless,
hands clutched deep
ancient ritual
to grasp the beating human heart

to be sacrificed

but when you are only
a particle of dust

i guess that is the point.

2011 m.

Particle of Dust

Matty B. Duran

Joined July 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 13

Artist's Description

“He who justifies the wicked, and he who
condemns the just,
Both of them alike are an abomination to
the Lord.”
(Proverbs 17:15)

I guess the point is when you are not seen as human, anything can be done to you, even extermination.
This poem is part of the series of Life Poems I am writing as a Memorial to the Genocide that has been declared on the Unborn.

click here for description of Life

prolife.com

Artwork Comments

  • CanyonWind
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  • BlueMoonRose
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  • George Coombs
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  • Charldia
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  • trisha22
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