no quickening for me.
when you and your co-worker somehow end up talking about abortion at the end of the day and she describes pro-choice as “pro-abortion” and you have to give some stuttering half-assed non-opinion because how can you, in a lower position, bring your own political opinions into the workplace, and you mention how you were born at 5-6 months and “just think if your mother would have” but you know, she wouldn’t have because she was ready to love me, and i wouldn’t be thinking in the case that she hadn’t been, would i? and you want to cry later because once again you couldn’t hold the truth or be unsilenced; you weren’t really allowed to. and all the girls who get screamed at walking to clinics on cold mornings, or have been told they took the easy way out, or die sick from botched surgery, or children who grow up a little just to be thrown around. women being controlled, bodies wrapped up in imagined stains and real scars. she can’t put herself in their place? and then, how can you stay and bare yourself to friends who feel the same way.