Womb Envy
Dear Doctor Freud,
I read in your book on narcissism about how girls envy the penis. What a mind you have!
I was wondering if you could explain somewhere in your next book
why
as i rise every morning
beneath that overbearing sun
my body screams.
precious little baby me
strangled to death.
it’s a miscarriage miss
number three-six-three-three.
and as i shed again my dreams
i feel as though these bones
belong to someone else.
why
at the hour of runny eggs
i close my eyes, but still
i feel that face hiding
here, in my silver spoon
here, in my facebook feed
here, in my attached cv
here, in my filthy window
overlooking dead grass
and not-quite-abandoned playthings.
why
as that fucking sun
pisses the day away
drunk on its own light
i feel long, red scratches
appear in batches on my skin.
here they are again
the faint traces of names
like alexis or alexandria.
the same ones carved
in my notebook.
the same ones carved
on the hearts of all the people
my body disappointed.
why
i sup, i sulk, i shove
another finger down my throat
gagging on unfamiliar skin until
oh my god, my water broke!
it finally broke!
it broke! it broke! it broke.
and as the shitter soaks up all
the shrimps or steaks or sausage links
i could never carry to term
i feel like a teenager
for the first time, again.
why
as i lie in that sun’s fucking shadow
swaddled in this blanket
i’ve had since birth
i feel tiny kicks in my belly
dewdrops on my cheeks
a heartbeat that isn’t
my own
and i pray that god abort
all
this
emptiness
inside.
Help me, doctor.
What does my penis envy?