Why was I Not Asked Before I was Created?

I am my mother's first born child, 

And my daddy's little girl, 

Pulled from the womb 

At a late stage, 

I cried silently for the warmth I was taken from,

As the cord was cut,

I shouted to be left alone,

Not to be released into this 

Pitiful world;

Not a person listened to my screams,

They wrapped me in a pink blanket

And let me grow into an adult

Where there is no escape insignificant enough

To free my dying soul;

I blame the sperm and the egg,

I blame the OBGYN,

Most of all I blame Him,

For existing in this painful place,

Without one thought on the idea

Of creating me that fateful 

November day.