Not life at all.

you call it life, but i see the brittle roots of it, snapped before they’ve tasted earth. the hollow promise of blooming, choked by hands too distant to water, too loud to listen. you speak of hearts beating, but ignore the rhythm of the woman’s own pulse, her breath caught in a cage of expectations, her body- an altar to a god she did not choose. this is not worship. this is sacrifice. what of the child born to hunger, to the weight of a world unready to cradle them? what of the mother, carrying the weight of a choice made for her, her voice silenced under the disguise of morality? who grieves for her? you demand a garden of innocence, yet pave it with thorns, where no hands are there to tend the wounds. is it life to demand existence, then abandon it to the shadows? you chant for breath, but leave lungs gasping in polluted air, aching in the quiet of forgotten corners, a life sustained only to suffer. is this the gift you defend? if life is sacred, then let it be chosen, let it be nurtured, let it bloom where it wills, not where it is forced. pro-life is not life at all, when it does not love the living.