Within a womb, unnourished, hard and dry,
An aching rhythm beats against it's shell.
The ovum still attempts once more to cry,
A cry unheard outside this craving well.

This sadness, madness-- sere, and needs some sip
Of lifeblood serum so that it might breathe.
The passed and past bind tightly. Oh, to rip!
This bastard mind still longing to unsheathe.

If longings lay within this shell, it seems
That crystallizing hope may help to lead
This writhing, weary egg of wary dreams
To break the bonds of fear and unfed need.

It isn't simple. God, I wish it were--
To be myself, yet only call me...her.