pale & green

How is it I’ve felt the dancing of life in my womb

Not even once but twice

And still believe that life should be allowed to be torn from existence?

How can I possibly look into pale blue-green eyes mirroring my own

A person I made behind them

And my heart not wrench at the thought of eyes not even given the chance to develop?

How my body and mind and soul would revolt if my child’s life were snatched away

As if they were nothing

And yet here I am, the ties between me and the ones I love severed by this barbaric idea I hold

That those who would take life from their wombs still matter and still deserve their autonomy

That a life lived hungry and unloved

Might not be a life worth living, might not be a life to force on anyone for the sake of “living”

Still today, my heart aches to once more feel life grow within me, to be a vessel for another being

To have the privilege of raising part of our earth

Yet if I had to choose between the pain, and suffering, and fear, and loneliness that child might feel trying to find a home

Or simply protecting that child before they even emerge from my womb

I don’t think the decision would be a hard one

Because while I might be able to protect my children tooth and nail when they live in my home

While they are in my care

That says nothing for children under the “care” of the government. Taught and fed and loved the bare minimum for survival

Denied homes and love and a family because they can’t pay the thousands required of them

It also says nothing of the children born to mothers who try to raise them despite what they feel

The pain. The resentment. The fear.

If you’ve never looked into tiny eyes and listened to a screaming mouth and wanted nothing more than to turn them facedown into the mattress

Begging for silence

Then I do not expect you to understand why I believe a death within the womb might be better

Than death at the hands of an exhausted, sobbing, shaking mother

Who only wanted the best for their baby

Who could not bear to make them suffer for 18 years just to be thrown out like garbage

Who could not take the weight of life on guilty, tired, unprepared shoulders

And who wasn’t allowed to simply avoid that pain for everyone involved with the swallow of a pill or slice of a blade

Because someone thinks that somehow one life is more important than another

That somehow this mother no longer matters because sperm has met egg inside them

That somehow it is better for a person to suffer for “a chance at life”

And that somehow being ripped from this horrid world we live in before it could even begin

Would be a bad thing

And not a blessing on its own.


[Image description: two photos of a woman standing indoors, one a full-length shot and the other three-quarters. She is white and has dark brown hair, shaved on the sides and worn curly off to one side on top. She wears glasses with frames that are tortoiseshell on top and clear, pink-tinted plastic on bottom. She wears grey and black sweater dress and a large floral scarf around her neck. The dress has blousey, dolmen sleeves and hits above the knee. She also wears dark tights and black clog boots that rise above the ankle. The scarf has a floral print in light blue, navy, purple, and mustard. The background contains a light wood-colored dresser, a pale teal bar cart with glasses and bottles of alcohol, and a pale green wall filled with many pieces of framed art.]

The sort of in-between weather we get in the spring always makes me excited to pull out my mid-weight scarves; it’s cool enough that I need a little extra coverage, but warm enough to put away my giant wooly blanket scarves.

Dress: Target | Scarf: H&M | Boots: Steve Madden

anonymous asked:

can I just say that I love you like seriously

you can say that

you know what I love like seriously? These porcelain seals I’ve been looking at on ebay 





this last one scares me and I feel almost unnerving levels of affinity for her