Labor Day Anniversary Week of Death

Ironic the week of Labor Day,
40 years ago the week of no labor,
Only death,
Illegal abortion,
No escape.
Another stab into my already dying soul.
Soul murdered slowly,
From birth.

Loneliness,
Sadness,
Grief,
And silent rage.

Given no choice,
No outs,
Wanted to run away,
Too afraid.
Where would I go,
Where would I run?
No place to hide,
I tried.

I no longer blame that poor tortured girl,
I feel such sadness for her,
Pain,
I know,
Leave the past in the past.
Don't rehash.

But then the anniversary comes,
I am done,
Trying to pretend it doesn't still hurt.
And worse,
I remember.