Teratoma

Vinamrathra Rao, MD-PhD Third Year

Every night I stood still and stared into the mirror,
until my reflection seemed to move on its own.
This body of mine,
does not feel like home to me.

There was a woman who slept here,
tucked into silken membranes
as she sighed into the stale, unbroken air
of my peritoneum.

When I felt sick of my own skin,
I sculpted a profile of serene and stoic marble
with my eyes closed.
She was meant to be everything I was not.

My belly swelled,
yet my womb remained empty.
I ate less
and worked more.
I ate nothing
and worked until I knew no more.

I slept for so long,
I existed somewhere else entirely.
I woke to a full body ache,
knowing that someone else had been in my bones.

This body,
is it mine?

While I was gone,
they plucked her from me-
hair undone
teeth gnashing wild
skin blistering in red patches,
as she curled into herself.

She could not scream,
her mouth
yet to form.

They kept the woman of my dreams,
now that I have seen her
with my eyes open.

Tonight, I stand in front of the mirror
to look at myself.

This body of mine,
it terrifies me.