by Maya Snyder
Lead me to walk through paths I’ve never been. Blindly, I’ve followed in trust, but never have I needed to worry; it’s always been you that knows me better than I know myself. I am just like you. Do you see me in yourself? I’m sure that you were like me once. Were you scared of change? Could you feel the pressure of the world on your shoulders? Well, I do too. I understand, but I don’t think I want to be like you. It’s not your fault. Even if it’s as beautiful as you say, here’s a path I don’t want to walk. Sacrifices, I can tell you’ve made many. You give me extra of your favorite food just because it’s my favorite food too, even if it means you’ll have less to eat. I was a crybaby. I’d be too sad if you left, so you stayed home to play with me. I shared a body with you once. You held me in there—warm, nurtured, safe. Was I heavy?
Each month, I bleed. It hurts, and though it’s just my body’s maintenance of itself, it feels so much more profound than that. As I pass a hand over my womb, I can’t help but feel like I don’t really have a choice. Am I selfish? It’s a beautiful thing, you said, to have had you. Awkwardly, I exist in this body, a body I still don’t feel used to. I’ve always wanted to live a life that was in my control. I want to have control. All these you never knows; I hate the idea that my body doesn’t really belong to me, but to fate. My flesh and blood swirling inside me, to produce another life. Then, would they grow into me? Would they understand once they become what I am now? I’ve spent close to my entire life seeking autonomy. Please, let me have this.