You reached between my legs
and pulled the woman
from my womb.
You lit her mouth with
cigarettes;
and with beer
you adorned her tomb.
I cried out all but once,
for 15 is premature.
When I watched you leave,
however,
I not after stirred.
You left me
with her death,
but I restored her health.
Pale with weak disgust,
I'd born a child adult.
You may have split
my body
but her's remained untouched.
She took pity on me
and gladly gave her's up.
The woman you once knew
and tore from my own womb,
is the woman I've become-
she's pulled me in and made some room.
 
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