I am slowly processing what happened in Texas, and I feel this poem is relevant yet again. I have some newer thoughts than this poem I wrote 8 years ago obviously, but the core feeling behind it is still the same.
Last time I posted this back in 2019, I had someone take offense to my illustration because they were made uncomfortable by the nudity of the pregnant woman and felt her overtly sexualized. I don’t see overt sexualization, and that wasn’t the intent, but if you do feel uncomfortable by it, I would invite you to sit in that discomfort for at least a moment and ask yourself why. It is through feeling small moments of unease that we can really get to the core of our inner selves and remain true to what is important to us. And that makes it so much more difficult for others to take control of our minds and hearts.
An Open Letter
To Whom It May Concern:
I am not a cow
Nor a pig
Nor your slave.
I am not chattel.
My womb is my own.
I have felt the quicksilver movement
Of early life within.
Life I created with my partner.
Life I nurtured, that I endured hardship for,
By my choice.
It is true that
Women are vessels
For unborn children.
But if something is wrong with a vessel
Or what is stored in the vessel,
What would you do?
If you had a clay pot with cracks in it,
Would you try to store water?
Or would you dump out the water
And patch the cracks
Before trying to use the pot again?
If you had grain stored in that same pot,
And it became moldy,
Would you keep the grain in that pot
Until it returned to dirt?
Or would you throw…
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