What does withdrawal do to a fetus?
I've pulled my knees up to my chin
and I'm hiding. Seven months spent
banging up against my mother's bones,
I cut my wrists and didn't die, what
an abortion. Took seven Seconal, a dozen
Darvon, spent seven hours throwing up.
Hands holding my head under the water:
You're bad, you're bad. I don't even deserve
to die. Can't you see how bad I am?
Seven months of nightmares, things I wanted
to remember now I wish I could forget.
Sometimes I feel like I'm being torn to
pieces. I don't want to come out of here.
I don't want to be locked up. It's different
when the door is locked from this side.
---------------------------------
A found poem, from sometime in 1977 or 1978.