My womb is barren – empty and dry.
I never wanted to get my period.
I never wanted to celebrate my ascension into womanhood.
Though my ovaries ache, give me no children.
Filet me.
Hang me by my fallopian tubes – arms spread wide,
So that all may watch the autopsy of my soul.
My act of contrition.
About the Author
G. Picconatto lives and works in Minneapolis, MN. Their written/poetic work focuses primarily on their personal journey with gender. Follow them on Instagram @pisces_witxh.
Complement this poem with a look into the pain of feeling unseen, or a personal account of the realities of accessing healthcare in the U.S.
