The Sterile Incubator

By: Sophia MacAller

 

Held in my mothers arms, I weep

for she craved the feel of being named “mom”.

The hospital bed in which she lies deep,

is now my set future, “it’s a girl, mom”.

Our matching green eyes on each other dawn,

for two different lives have begun now,

in a world where our bodies are a pawn.

As I grow into my own feminine,

from that morning in which my soul came to,

I stray further from the pressure within,

having to find my own version of “you”.

Stories of death, our anatomy changed,

from the expects I am now estranged,

                                                           I become the sterile incubator.