We did not give consent (an antinatalist poem)

My cousin's pregnant during a pandemic.
We're the same age. We share the same first name.

She believes babies are a gift to God,
miracles with the power to change a woman.
She believes refusing a child is sinning,
bodily autonomy not as important as
being a servant.
She believes missionary work and forcing
others to assimilate is moral,
the Catholic life the only way to be a good
person.

Person?
You know who's a person?
All of us raised in downplayed abuse, still with
a roof over our heads, but all the more confused.
How could love ever be unconditional?
You could be the most prepared, and the
floodgates would open even more.
Pain is not beauty, I'm not a masochist.
Tell Mother Theresa there's nothing holy
about suffering, though according to her,
if we're not bleeding for our faith
then are we even surviving?

My cousin's pregnant during a pandemic,
like many others, and I picture a casket
instead of a crib.
Depending on others for joy, for purpose,
will only dig a faster grave.

Life has beaten me down too often.
I'm not hopeless, don't call me negative,
just think about why we seek out the
temporary when this life won't even make
an indentation, we'll barely be remembered.

No matter her intentions,
no matter her promise of boundless love,
I (they) did not ask for

whatever this is.