My Womb is a Cathedral by Abigail Pearson

My womb is a cathedral

A haunted place where no one goes

A sabbath - a holy day

Sacred ground - touch only without your shoes

My womb is a dead thing

Too much rotting skin and bloodless soul

My hands can make a blessing, so much food and fill the house with grace

But inside I am dying

Each month more tissue and eggs pass through me but they are nothing

My womb is just so many words

Crammed in and piled against each other

Never leaving space for anything other than myself

Teeth pinching down and clamping itself on my nether regions

A vise grip with death

An eviscerated space

Life scooped out and there is no hope for me

No pills no shots no nothing can make me better.



What Am I Afraid Of? by Chi Ilochi

White Bones by Abigail Pearson

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