you wake up attached,
to a mother, not THEE mother—
but YOUR mother—a mother;
a fleshy cord cut, and now you’re free—your mind is yours, your body rented, temporary—
you suck nutrition from breasts and bottles—eventually, a cock, a beer—a kiss
—on certain nights—your birthday usually, you can feel the rip, you can hear the rip, a swingset between her legs—a constant reminder of the pain you caused just by being born—
as if you would’ve chosen this//as if you would’ve agreed to this//happenstance—coincidence—whatever you call it, —
I’m here, and my body is weak from all you’ve denied it—but I feed it milks squeezed from almonds and oats—vegetables from a friend’s garden—protein from animals killed kindly—and on the days I eat wild meat, I am reminded of the feral way in which you birthed me—the taste of primitive red meat—some poor animal who didn’t have a choice but to be born—just like me—
