There was blood.
They were cannibals.
There were people were being murdered
for no reason at all.
The crazy man on the news
convinced me to murder them too,
and when I cried,
he told me I'd get over it.
I screamed at the women
supporting the murders,
and the men
for committing them.
I was forced to apologize.
Not for screaming,
but for protesting.
I woke up
afraid.
But I can't tell anyone,
because they'll just tell me
that I should accept
that it happens in real life,
and I should get over my nightmares.
This poem is about some graphic nightmares I've had about abortions happening, and about how I felt like I couldn't talk to people about it because it's such a sensitive topic.
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