Womanhood Is Body Horror
by Hannah Bambach
The child in my body grieves today.
She has endured years of suffering at the hands of my evolution,
taken by the arm and left to find a warm nest in my organs to reside in.
She has not seen the horrors of my world
but she sleeps against my stomach lining
torn from vomiting up all that I can while I am still allowed to.
The child in my body wonders why all I can do is scream.
She hopes that I have seen a spider or a rat,
and not that her house of tissue and pumping valves
is in the hands of someone not belonging to its system.
The child in my body urges me with tugs at my uterus to celebrate the smell of blood.
She wonders how much longer I will be able to sit over a toilet bowl
and insert a tampon before someone else will do it for me.
She remembers the feeling of blood dripping down her leg for the first time,
and asks if I am still afraid I will suffocate my eggs before they can be fertilized.
The child still living in my body wonders when I will cut her out.
She urges me to want a new body in my womb, to pry her from my ribcage
and make room for the daughters and sons
the people around me are hungry to watch me have.
As she grows around my organs, she learns that the innocence in my stomach
will be the only child to stay in my body that is wanted there.
Hannah Bambach (she/her) is a queer creative writing student at Emerson College focused on joining the macabre and feminist in her writing. She adores the SAW franchise, anything queer horror, and having full autonomy over her body. Follow Hannah on Instagram Instagram @hannahbambach.