I’m curled up inside my room
where it is warm and safe.
I want to leave,
but it’s not time yet.
Mother sends food through the tube,
meeting me where I lay.
Mother sounds distraught, saying,
“I don’t know how this happened.”
Mother is likely talking of me,
remaining sequestered in my room.
I have become a burden, —
“an inconvenience,” she says.
Muffled voices through the door:
“…my body… my choice…”
But what about my body?
Don’t I have a choice?
For the first time, the door opens.
Finally! I can see the light!
But metal arms come rushing in
and tear me apart limb from limb.