My once hopeful womb, is now filled with “anomalies”.
Under the scrutiny of medical imaging, I do not see it,
I hear, “I am sorry, but you cannot…” and I fall.
This flesh has deteriorated within me, and I feel the loss in my bones.
12 years out of reach, I succumb to the darkness; it grips me tightly.
I am reminded of what my body cannot do, and I release the choking air.
Abandoning my privilege, is never enough, I am told.
This flesh has cheated me and I feel the loss in my memory.
I cannot form, produce, contribute. They know me now.
“But I am bleeding!” their eyes glaze over, unable to comprehend.
In the confusion, my womb, empty as the syringe used to extract my liquid equivalent.
This flesh has corrupted me and I feel the loss in my blood.
I am here now, trying, in the liminal space I have carved from this chaotic assemblage.
The body in this flesh, never the same, endlessly exposed.
Lorato Mokwena 