Birth, the Production Line

by Alisa Blanchard

Right now, the rights to my body are being sold
And I tumble like scraps into the trash can
Knowing my remaining worth is misplaced
Into the void of methane growth
Amassed by the systems
Pathologies and labels adorn my body
And stories of the correct way to be submissive
Return
As assaultive reminders accumulate
The fact I cannot be trusted with my own body
Apparently to question absolute authority
I must ransack and pillage my temple
Or completely sever ties to judicial reflection
Sterile images and threads
Weave around my body like braids
Captivating me in their hold
I am hard, clean and easy to read
Like numbers on a chart
Or curves on a monitor
Printed ink on paper
Leave no room for the mural on the wall,
The shelves of picture books and journals,
iPod full of songs,
That write complete story of me
And forever I remain a name spoken incorrectly
By eyes peering down
As I am strapped to the barricade of
Machine, tests, drugs, and games
Until I fully surrender my whole
To this wild experiment
Without voice
And kept warm in a blanket of shame.

http://amlika.wordpress.com/

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Filed under birth, Guest Blogger, motherhood, poem, poetry, Reproductive Health, women's stories

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