The Difference Being Born Makes

Thirty weeks I'd been around

And still no-one really wanted me

Just for myself, as I was.

Not my dad;

He'd just said "Get rid of it"

When my mother told him,

"It's me or it."

She hesitated,

And he walked out.

Out of her life

And mine.

My mother liked the idea of a perfect baby,

Beautiful and smiling,

Someone who'd adore her unconditionally.

Then she found out

That I wasn't perfect.

I had a club foot 

And a cleft palate.

I wouldn't be beautiful

When I was born.

So she decided

To get rid of me.

Just like that.

She didn't want a baby that wasn't perfect,

So she started making arrangements.

What could I do?

There was only one way out.

To be born.

Babies decide when they want to be born.

I decided the time was now.

I was still still small,

And really needed the extra time in the womb.

But it was now or never.

When I arrived the doctors and nurses looked at me.

They didn't seem worried 

About my club foot and cleft palate.

"We'll soon fix those," I heard them say.

"No problem these days."

My mother still didn't want me,

An imperfect baby,

But others did.

Crowds of them.

To them I was beautiful

With just some minor faults

That could be easily fixed.

I was lucky,

I got out in time.

Others have not been so lucky,

They were still too small to be born,

Or didn't realise the urgency.

But why should it make such a difference

Whether we're in the world or still in the womb?

We are still babies

And should have the right to live,

And be treated just like others who aren't completely  perfect.