Birthday: A Poem for Those Who Never Had One

It’s my birthday today.
33 years ago, my mother chose
Life.
Not so for
One million, three hundred
seventy-one thousand,
two hundred eighty-five
Others that year.

I made it
From clump of cells
to person.
That [fabricated] line of
“You’re nothing” to
“You matter”.
They didn’t.

I grieve for
Wombs turned tombs.
I hope in the one
Who went in to both
To offer life to
Murderers and murdered
Alike.

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