A Letter to my Fetus Self

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a spoken word poem, meant to be performed. I hope reading it can do some good too. Enjoy.

Submitted: March 12, 2014

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Submitted: March 12, 2014

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Dear Fetus Self,

 

Right now you’re probably kicking and twisting with your arms in and your knees to your head. Like a battery you lie there having more life than you did an hour ago… or even a minute. With every passing moment, life is poured into you. You have not a worry in the world. Like seriously, you don’t even have to eat! What’s up with that?

 

Well, enjoy it.

 

At this point, you so desperately to meet the world that you are dying to get out. But let me tell you, that the air here is poison: it will fill your lungs and rot your insides. With every passing second, life is being dumped back out and you’re always one step closer to death.

 

Now, be careful when you kick because life’s a bitch, it will kick you back. And when you once heard ooh’s and ahh’s, you’ll hear lawsuits and fuck you’s.

 

The moment you’re release into the world you’ll be but a lump of clay. And the people you thought loved you the most will beat you. Beat you with racecars, guns, and shades of blue. They will beat you until you cannot recognize who you were once before.

 

They will tell you not to cry. They will tell you to pick yourself up. And like an organized factory of societal puppets, they’ll package and lock you away in a room with the shrinking walls of expectations, normalcy, and an unrealistic definition of what it means to be yourself.

But use those little fists and break down those walls. Tear away the packaging tape and the labels, and let in the boogeymen, and ninjas and superheroes, and yea! What the hell. Pick your nose.

 

Now take all those things that make you “you” and weave them into an anchor. One so that you may tie yourself to it. And when everyone pulls you left and right and up and down, things will seem foggy. But follow that rope back to where it began.

 

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And I know you’ll grow up and walk with your arms right out in front of you trying to catch all the pains, miseries, and the joys, and wonders because you want to handle it all: The good and the bad. But your arms are too small and your voice is too weak and sometimes you just gotta learn to let go.

 

That is your best feature: you keep your eyes open wide and your heart even wider. You . . . will love . . . hard.

 

But that’s also your worst feature: because when they don’t love you back, it’ll reach you like the sting of a cold ocean wave pulling you back to reality. And when you’re drowning in that ocean, the ocean of “what could’ve been”, you WILL forget that rope. But when you remember, weave it once more into a boat.

 

A boat to sail that bitch of an ocean. And you will cast your rod into the deep sea and pull up “what is” . . . and forget “what could’ve been”.

 

Sincerely,

A Know-nothing Lump of Clay


© Copyright 2020 ctm2n. All rights reserved.

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