birth

i dreamed i was pregnant and that i had the constant pressure of straps and belts and buckles around my belly.  Breaking them off was a great feat; they clung to me, each strap a leech getting fat on my stasis.  my belly skin was loose.  under the skin the baby was undulating, its torso the body vessel of a boat, its limbs the structure for a sail, it rocked and tipped inside me.  i loosened the straps to wriggle out and found myself in front of a full-length mirror.  i studied my profile from the top of my head, down the indentations of my eye sockets, the beak of my nose, slight throat, swelled breasts resting on my great, lumpy belly.  a belly which was not perfectly round and firm.  a belly that took the shape of the profile of my face.  it screamed for release and chewed the insides of my vacuous uterus.  my own image, my own new self, violently demanding leave from my body through the process of birth.

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About thedoubleequal

TheDoubleEqual is interested in Anais Nin, Smut and subtext, Queer literature, Intersections of oppression, Jewish communities, Memoir, Poetry, All art, Subways, and Violent spiritual awakenings. View all posts by thedoubleequal

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