I can’t believe that you’re coming . . .
I mean, this is really happening.
A baby of my own.
Eight months from now you will be in my arms.
Before we go further, just know that I promise to always do what’s best for you.
Unfortunately, this means leaving you behind.
It means taking care of you before I could ever disappoint you.
This means that you will not be able to be in my arms.
You will not have the chance to enjoy your childhood and your transition to adulthood.
The reason for this decision lies in the best interest for you and me.
Helping you out of problems before you get here helps you escape
from tearful days,
hungry nights,
a life without a father,
day-to-day struggles,
and a low-class family environment.
I won’t let you go through that.
We could do so much better than that.
So, instead of putting up with this, why even bring you into this world?
Hold up. Okay
Wait a minute.
I can’t lie to you baby, please forgive me.
The truth is, I’m not ready for you, you came too soon.
Maybe a year from now and a different man, you would have been perfect.
Instead, you have brought me pain and confusion.
Accepting you in my life would only complicate things.
I’ve seen my friends in the same situation and I’m not ready for that.
I would lose my future,
no education, no man,
and no life that I had planned to have.
How would I explain you to my family, my friends, my man, the world.
I don’t want either of us being a statistic.
But, I guess it’s too late for that.
I could not have you and my man.
There, I said it.
I’m choosing the hope for love over my blood, my unborn baby.
Oh, your father?
He was nothing to me and he would just be nothing to you.
We both acted irresponsibly and so far
I’m paying for it . . .
the stress, the sleepless nights,
the tears, the confusion,
the pain, the lying,
the nightmares, and this very sin.
So, you see . . .
I have to do this.
Believe me, this isn’t your fault.
Always remember, mama will always love you and you’ll never be forgotten.
We both know that God has better plans for your soul and mine.
Please baby, don’t cry.
And remember, I’ll see you when or if I get there.
Your Mother,
Mama X
(this poem is dedicated to the many aborted babies)