| ReportBorn |
This is an older poem I posted on my regular blog. Just wanted to share it.
I was born just in time for lunch,But I would have preferredTo be born ten minutes early.The doctor broke my mother’s water,Then declared that he wantedTo get a sandwich to eat.Shortly after noon, I was finally fedAir and the first taste of my future.Milk won’t spoil inside the mother,But somehow I still became foul.I was born like the centaur,Because there was snow on the ground,And I took shots at the worldWith a bow and arrows from my tongue.I was born with the name I neverChose, and I lived under the name IFostered, and now I live withA name I only adopted gingerly.I was raised to consume andCater to the whimsical appetite.Consumption replaced air, andA foul stench soaked my every breath.Do you remember the first timeYou shrieked at your life?You didn’t volunteer to be rippedOut of the nonexistence,Or to be fed stale bread andSpoiled fruit from the tree.I am the next generation born,But so help me if I am not the lastTo be birthed like an egg with a shellThin enough to crack with two thumbsOr a gentle tap on the counter. |
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