The Abortion of Myself

My legs have become long bending wires
Awaiting the internal volcanic eruption
Blood runs out, producing drowning piles
I have no control of any inner-emotion
As painful tears flow from my swollen eyes
I evoke something unfamiliar purging from my flesh
Laboring itself through agonizing cries
I clear my vision to perceive that it’s fresh
The smell that launders a newborn creature
Is unveiled into this world of uncertain and twisted trails
My body is left in a cold sweaty seizure
While the surrealness of this subtly fails
I look down and watch this part of me vigorously move
Then reach for scissors to sever the accustomed feed
Which has all just ended in proof
That started from a fertilized seed
I take a moment to study for whom I’ve moaned
And notice in terror a disfigured head
So pink and ugly, this being is deformed
With bare hands, I reach out and strangle it dead

Author’s note:

I wrote this when I was seventeen years old and a freshman in college. I had never been pregnant, given birth or had ever had an abortion. At the time, I didn’t really know why this had come out of my mind and onto paper. Later, I realized that it had nothing to do with pregnancy, childbirth or abortion. This was about being haunted by low self-esteem and the constant battle for self love, approval and acceptance. Therefore, I found giving it this title most appropriate.