Ode To Endometriosis
Strong, like kingdom walls,
stacks of sandbags, swamps of quicksand,
or barricades of filigreed barbed wire.
It holds me inside.
I can see myself in eleven years.
Perched on sterile metal instead of
mountains of handmade quilts,
or nests of woven moss.
It will have turned love-making and child-bearing
from an art to a science,
and I will paint pictures
of how being a woman is supposed to feel.
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