A wise man once said,
“babies are vipers in diapers.”
And I couldn’t agree more.

Think about it ladies,
Developing stretch marks
on top of stretch marks.
That baby fat will never go away.

An ulter of flesh built in remembrance.
Your Fridays will never be the same,
and don’t get me started on the sleepless nights.
Good luck not having a decent amount of sleep
for the next three years.

Don’t get me wrong,
I don’t hate kids.
Truth is,
I am scared
and you can’t love that
which you fear.

The world health organization estimates
that more than 300,000 women died
from pregnancy related causes
in 2015 alone.
That’s 830 women every day.

I am scared of trying to have you
and failing and turning into
just another statistic,
one in 830 women.

I am scared I will not be able to feel
your embrace or watch you grow.
What if my womb isn’t house
enough to host you?
Walls slowly curving into each other
pushing you out.

I don’t know if I am

able to stomach motherhood.

My fear consumes me,
it’s easier to make to
make fun of it than actually
deal with it.
Baby names slowly fading
to the back of my mind,
a grave for all things forgotten.

Sometimes I think the closest I will come to having kids is through this poem.

I didn’t know joy and pain could be this related.