You Say It's Your Birthday

squeezed out of a crotch, slapped twice on the ass, and cut from the womb. nine months after conception you'll start to learn that the political vigilence paid to your so-called rights is now lost as an abstract idea in a sea of hectic human shit. those that rallied for your birth now offer their sincerest, "who gives a shits" in all your post-natal endeavors. you may not learn the names of those that bravely fought for your rights as a fetus.
perhaps one day forget the selfless men and women who through prayer, blockade, and clinic harassment you owe your life. so may they conveniently forget you when you're starving in government housing, no better yet jail. no, better still, abused by foster parents, totally unemployable with a $300 a day addiction. no, best yet, bleeding to death in a bathroom, clutching a coat-hanger while their war wages on.