Pro-Choice.
We toss this term,
It's black and white--
"I'm allowed to choose
I have this right!"
You're right in that,
but it is much more,
We each have a choice,
We each decide which door.
I choose that door!
Dressed in cap and gown.
No, now I choose that one,
although it may be run down.
I particularly like that one
painted in placenta and blood.
Oooh! and the one over there!
plastered with same genders in love.
Or the door on the far side
that has machinery and guns.
The door-handle is a trigger.
Well, that looks like fun!
There's the door covered in vomit!
I like that silhouette.
It brings out her skeletal figure,
As skinny as she can get.
I especially enjoy the burnt-out door.
It dances if you wish it too.
All you have to do is inhale the paint,
Then it will Irish jig for you.
I see another door
That is only painted black.
We often gravitate there
And rarely ever come back.
It holds all our evils
our horrible thoughts,
our selfish actions
and look! a bag of pot!
A surprise in every door!
We have all of these choices,
Yet we sit around and argue
just to hear our own voices.
I see a white door,
Gleaming and bright,
It holds something much greater;
Eternal love, eternal life--
Yet we gravitate away.
We cant take the light,
when our "wonderful" choices
lead us into plight.
We have the free-will,
yet we bicker and bruise em.
If only, if only
we could actually use em.
Pro-choice?
Okay, enough has been said.
Go do what you want,
you might end up dead.
