6/30

When I told him
That he was not the one
Our rambunctious brood of 
Hypothetical, yet to be 
Concieved babies
Gathered around a small 
Open window in the
cloud covered floor of heaven
And whimpered, looking down
At us breaking up
Realizing that they 
Would never 
Get to be born
Because they were never
Meant to be

Such poor babies
Pitiful little cherub faces
Banished to non-existence
For all eternity
What a shame
Little So-And-So 
And Whats-Her-Name
Never even had a chance
Tragic
How a romance can
Stumble on a starlit rooftop
And fall to it's death
What a freak accident 
This incompatibility is
Unfortunate to meet eachother 
In costumes that most accurately
Portray our ugliest characteristics
It would be better to roam
The streets naked
Answer yes, always
Swim with the bossy current 
And never ripple waves
Not even to signal for help
Once my lungs get thirsty

I am a woman
Little time afforded to my species
For things like
What we really want
And what we plan to do
We choose early
Self development or
Child rearing
Exploration
Or a home
With arms enough
To hold you in
The most basic
And very simple things
Every option, delicious 
But a decision
Like a promise
You can never go back on

There is a scroll 
Of childrens' names
Lodged in the back 
Of your throat
That may never 
be excavated while you 
Are still alive
Thousands of years
After you have died
Archaologists will unearth it
And the scroll's subjects
Will whimper
As they watch