To my unborn child:
There is no reason.
There`s too many.
Want to be free,
want to be wild.
Like you would be,
had you been born
and lived with me,
grown in my arms.
If you breathed…
I‘d care for you,
I‘d hold you
and I‘d love you so…
so much.
Right the first second that I‘d touch
your tiny little face
– But trust:
You wouldn‘t like to live this age
of consumption,
greed and hate.
And I would die
deep down inside
seeing you cry
as much as I
did in despair
about this world.
Oh, it‘s not fair…
I‘ll never hold you, little bear…
Not let you suffer,
couldn‘t bare
to hear your questions,
see your stare.
-“Why Mommy, why?…”
-“‘Cause we fucked up”
Humanity has quickly dug
its grave.
And I don‘t want to tuck
you in its sheets.
Oh baby please, forgive my greed.
But I can‘t have you,
I can‘t see
the things that you‘ll be going through…
…So now sleep tight.
My baby blue.
A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth
PiaPetePoetry 