If the personal is political then birth is the most radical
act a woman can ascertain. Grunt, moan, pant, sing to the world “Here is my body
in strength and vulnerability, my breath alone fuels the lungs of the child
inside me.” Sounds heard only in the ecstasy of sex and the epiphany of birth,
raise them on the wind. Possess your
body in all its glory, own it from top to bottom front to back, claim with
pride every stretch mark, brown spot and juice that flows from nipples, sex, mouth,
eyes. Woman is creation, delivering new pure humans on the doorstep of earth,
through the very vessel the patriarchy commands we hide with guilt and shame, never
to be spoken of. The vagina is the doorway to the world, to life itself. Radiate with strength and vitality, ripen and
stretch taut without disintegrating, birth is the beacon of feminism.
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