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Egg May 17
It is 1973, the U.S. Supreme court ruled in favor
of a woman's right to choose.

It is 2000 and my mother chooses me.
I am born with ten fingers and ten toes
and though I remember nothing,
she remembers it all.

It is 2001 and terrorism reeks havoc and death
on the United States
and Americans are reinvigorated
with a new kind of hatred for foreigners and immigrants.

It is 2009 and my parents divorce
and I meet a man
that makes me afraid to live in my own home.
Because he lives there as well.
And though, he never touches me
he talks to me
like I am nothing
and he is the sun
and there a hiccups of time
when I believe him.

Things I was not supposed to worry about.

It is 2014 and I read about Roe v. Wade for the first time
in my 9th grade history textbook,
I thought that my generation
would not have to worry about these things.
That some other brave women had paved the way
toward my right to choose what happened to my body.
Funny
how some of my other peers never had to come to that revelation.
Funny
how we learn in silence.

It is 2015.
I work in a bar, behind the scenes
flipping burgers and cleaning toilets
but everyone still knows my name
and some people still throw their arms around me
and hold on too tight
and touch me in sly inappropriate glimpses

It is 2015,
and I have learned to grin and bear it
and never say a word.
Because there are things a woman puts up with
for the sake of a job.

It is 2015 and in my personal finance class
a teacher projects a chart of a wage gap,
chalks up the hundreds of thousands of dollars
in differential pay
to maternal leave.
And I wonder if he ever smiled through a man
more than three times his age,
with a hand on his ***
without saying a thing.

these are things we were not supposed to worry about

It is 2018 and my mother asks me how I sleep at night
knowing I litter my facebook timeline with
pro-choice propaganda.
How I could think that I might know anything about my own body
and life and needs
because I haven't had children.
Because my thoughts, desires, obligations, and dreams,
my validity as a **** human being
and as a woman
means nothing without bearing a child.

It is 2018 and I have been using a birth control pill
for three months
I put on ten pounds
I am emotional
I hate myself
and I cry constantly
Sometimes my stomach cramps until I throw-up,
but I know that I need to get used to birth control
that one day, and probably soon
I'll need it.

It's 2018, and I've been active for months,
I never miss a pill
I do everything right
my routine is a well-oiled machine
I use other methods as back-up even though it isn't cheap
I've been using a period tracking app for months
and it is never wrong.
But soon I'm five days late for my period
and awake till 3 am believing that my life is over
I'm supposed to go to college in a month,
I'm supposed to be responsible
How could I be so stupid?
How could I be so irresponsible?
My period is seven days late, but it comes while I'm working
and I bleed through my clothes.
I'm a bartender now, so I tie a sweatshirt around my waist
until my mother brings me what I need.
I want to cry out in relief
and I wonder why I suffered in silence,
and might have been punished alone
even though my crimes were aided and abetted.

It is 2019 and 19 states are pushing new
intrusive abortion restrictions and "heartbeat bills"
and women protest in blood red robes and white bonnets
that hide their faces and their person-hoods
that are being degraded
in favor of the person-hood of a pea.

It is 2019, and though it is not the first time,
I feel scared to be a woman.

These are the things we were not supposed to worry about.
Egg Apr 4
Sometimes people ask whether I miss
the way we were
and I'd be lying if I said that at least for a moment
I always feel my stomach lurch
at the mention of the life I lost.

that sometimes I imagine the million
things that might have made my life different
better, sweeter,
more full.

But how can I miss the wayward way
proximity only ever made me feel small

how nearness never meant intimacy

So no. I always say
No.

I don't miss us.
I don't miss feeling alone in a room full of people.

I don't miss wondering
why the glimmering image
of the life I should have
the family I should have
the smile I should have
didn't match the broken memories I was making
And I repeat, I do not miss it.
I do not miss the way we were.

I am grateful for the tear
for the pain I felt when you ripped
my heart to pieces.
For the time I spent wishing
I could turn back time
wishing we could stay
the way we were.

And everyday I find solace in that catalyst
that broke my life apart
that broke my family apart
that made me feel like a person in pieces.

That established the life I have today.
My own glimmering image, life, family,
smile.
I do not miss the way we were.
Egg Apr 4
I have starved.
not in the general sense
My belly has always been full
but I have felt emptiness in my heart.

we call it loss
the kind we cannot recover  

And so I know,
often there is no satiety.
We are bound to starve.
Egg Apr 4
I have only loved you
under a dark sky and a waning moon
and more in the light of day.
Love, I have only loved you.

When the book opened
and your fingers traced whispered words
and you winced.
Believe me, I have only loved you.

Even in the dawn,
in the bitter bite of a broken day
and slamming doors
even when the windows shattered
and the cold numbed my fingers and toes
and froze me in feeling
It was obvious, I have only loved you.

When the distance spread
thick and far
and all of our promises felt like lies
and the truth was difficult to distinguish
Remember, I only loved you.
I have only loved you.
I can only love you.
Egg Apr 2
I am reminded of a blank space
when I painted my heart
white.
Pure and empty.

I am reminded of the way it felt
when the chemicals and my blood
intermixed until the fluid that bled
from paper-cuts and scraped knees
was a rosy pink.
When my insides burned
and I wished
more than anything
that one day I might bleed red again.

But each day when I woke up
I'd lather the slippery blackened *****
in white.
And bleed pink
and anyone who talked to me
would say that my world was so *pretty.

"She bleeds pink," what a rosy life to lead.

And I begged myself to believe them
nod, smile
and buy more paint.

After many years
and blood so soft, it drunk like white wine
I looked to the house I'd built around me.
Walls built of paint cans
labels worn to light scuffs of black.

And looked to the floors where
the paint had splattered
white tears that marked the floor so clearly.

So, I walked the trails I always walked
but this time watched the ground.

roads
painted white
scattered, meekly, with dirt and green and life.

And I realized I had no where to hide.
I packed away my paint brushes
and let in all of the words
that sometimes settled like knives
Embedded deep in flesh
until the white and rosy blood
that left me
pale

began to change
And though my blood
was darker
and thinner
and smelled more strongly of iron
than solvent paint fumes.

I finally stopped painting,
I recycled the cans,
and gave myself new purpose.
Egg Apr 2
I go to bed and try to sleep,
remembering the millions of things
I am trying not to be.
and I know that in some ways
I will certainly fail.

And I will want to go places
that seem out of sorts for me.
There are things I will say
and people I will choose
mistakes I will make
while searching for a muse.

And maybe I will learn
to not revere the lives born in light
but find reality in darkness that found light.
Egg Dec 2018
No one knew me
like you did.
Sometimes I'm convinced no one does.
because no one could hurt me
like you did,
you knew exactly how your words
would cut the deepest
(I did too)

No one else had walked around
in my skin
worn my emotions
searched a shattered limbic system
cracked a chest and stared
at my vulnerable, pulsing heart.

But I have seen you too.

And I know how you like to breathe iron
weave severed veins
wade in my blood
and wait for me to betray
the life I strive to live.

No one knows me like that
No one knows just *******
that magical part of me
the part that just trusted
the part that just believed
in goodness

No one knows me,

You wanted to see me
a fire you extinguished
a damp collection of pieces

but no one knows me

No one has seen the pieces reassembled,
systems in sync
emotions filed

I've stopped mopping the floors
stopped hoping I can erase the stain of red
emblazoned in once white grout.

there are still shards of glass
that sometimes ***** an unsuspecting toe

but I have stopped  
God knows I've dedicated enough poetry to you.

so today i don't cry over you
I don't love you
and I don't hate you.

I have learned to live without you

turns out

it wasn't so hard.

So if you're waiting to hear it
I forgive you.


–and stay the **** away.
written 12/6/18
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