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Untitled Poem About This Body

Updated: Apr 14

By Jae Eason


I.

On a day, during a month that I will forget, I ask my mom for a hysterectomy.

In her Long Island accent, which I believe she sometimes overplays, she

responds, “Are you crazy?” And maybe I am crazy, and maybe I am trying

to disconnect myself from the things that don’t feel like mine.


II.

This cunt is not mine. Did you know, the last time I masturbated, I sobbed.

Hadn’t touched myself in months, but forced myself after multiple glasses

of wine. Wanted to remember what pleasure felt like in this body instead of

fear, but I trembled on my bed as tears drenched my skin and my dildo lay

limp beside me.


III.

Let me find the knife and amputate these tubes. I never want to be engorged

with life. And maybe I am crazy, but I want my womb to be the thing that is

solely mine. When they one day cut this body open, I want them to only see

guts.


IV.

When thinking of all the babies I do not wish to have, I think of all the people

who wish to have babies, but cannot. Sometimes I see this urge for

sterilization as selfish. But I think about it more than I think about fucking.


V.

And maybe I am crazy. But there is something foreign in here and it has

possessed a key for too long. How do I plead to the doctor to take out what

isn’t mine? I can no longer pretend that I am okay with this.


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Jae Eason is a poet from Long Island, New York. They studied English Literature at Arizona State University. While there, they won a Swarthout Award in Poetry. They currently work as an Office Manager at Brooklyn Poets and an English Teacher in South Korea. If they are not up to all the normal things people usually do, they’re most likely having an existential crisis.


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