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Sterile

Inability to create
Unable to blossom
Hanging like opossum

The nectar produced,
bitters and dies.
Stricken and discontent.

Sadness overwhelms
Heart drops to feet
lost confidence.

Pleasure felt
Satisfaction dies
Unable to produce,
future generation.

Like needle
that sticks skin
cleaned of sperm.

Plants refuse your seed
promiscuous girls embraces defect.
Laying unsatisfied in sheets of guilt.

"Pain consumes my soul, to know that I cannot bring life, that I cannot have my own genetics in my daughter or son. Praying for god to give me the ability to create has failed."
Unknown.



— sunscreen, May 26, 2010

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xena465

xena465

16 years ago

Oooh Alex!

I'm hoping this is fiction. Not to be able to have children is a terrible blow to such a young man. I'm going by your statement below your poem, if true; you can always be a dad to other children. You've got youth, age and kindness in your favour. If this is a sentiment to people who can't have children, then your heart is even more beautiful. Rosina xena465