I was born screaming,
yanked out of my
mother's womb,
****-naked and wailing.
If only I knew the
life that I would live,
I'd tie the umbilical
cord around my tiny
neck, scratch my paper-thin
skin with newly grown nails.
It wouldn't make a difference
to now,
my hands digging for something
deeper than blood
and veins.
I am hair and *******,
painted with scars,
breathing just to
stay alive.
I am alive but
not living.
I am as alive as I
was in an embryonic
sac.