Coming Out. Poem by Miki Byrne

Coming Out.

At the end of my long comfort;
wet suspending warmth, soft light pinking
through stretched skin—something changes.
My cocoon ruptures, empties.
Membrane clings. Sticky, enveloping.
I am squeezed. Walls close in.
Force my head into an opening, too tight.

I hear wails of torment. All is chaos.
Why am I being moved?
Who is screaming? My head hurts.
Viced unbelievably until I inch into light.
Air is cool upon my damp head. I am in a new world.
Dare not open my eyes. I am extruded,
squeezed even further, shoulders hunched
as small as they can go.

Then a sudden hot rush expels me.
Light is blinding. I am scooped up. Limbs chilled, flopping.
Something opens my mouth. Clears fluid. I am wrapped,
can move my limbs, am placed upon a warm soft surface,
hear a familiar thudding, close my mouth over a sudden nipple.
Wonder what has just happened.