Poetry Piece: “If My Vagina Could Speak”

If My Vagina could Speak

She would tell me that she is the “mouth” of my heart.

She would say I have fed her rotted filth masquerading as food, for longer than I want to admit.

She might ask me, beg even, if I could sample my lovers first, if I could at the very least chew the invaders before I swallow. 

But I have always been the fastest eater at the table,

My world has always been an eat or be eaten- “who’s it gonna be?” world. 

If my vagina could speak.

But she’s mute most of the time,

Except when red dribbles from her lips,

Marbling into water,

Or when she’s so hungry she drools what becomes a waterfall of insatiable lust.

If she could speak I wonder if she would declare that we stand on opposite sides of the picket fence,

Calling me a traitor to myself,

If I gave her the power to speak would she speak on behalf of who I am or would she shame me,

Asking me if I remember all the ways I forgot she was a part of me,

And if I remember all the times I blamed her for the hijackings that took place simply because she existed.

 Because she would be right, 

And she would be wrong. 

If my vagina could speak,

We would laugh about that time she shot a menstrual cup onto the floor,

Spit it out and said “fuck this- I CAN’T BREATHE”-

And we would laugh about the time she convinced my urethra to pee in the middle of the kitchen,

And I’d tell her she was an asshole for drying up like some sort of sahara desert that one time-

And she would call me an asshole for falling asleep that time I masturbated.

If my vagina could speak

She would apologize for existing in the first place,

And I’d tell her that I love that she’s here with me,

And that it’s the fault of people who don’t understand no,

And it’s my fault sometimes for wanting to feel anything but—

Sshe would tell me she took what I gave, has carried what I did not-

And she would tell me that the burden of femalehood should not be as heavy a load,

And I’d say “but it is. Because you and I both exist.”

And we would both say our sorries-

If my vagina could speak she would ask me if I trusted her.

And I’d say we need another round of tequila for that conversation.

 

Written By: Christine Alicea

About the Author: I am a Queer Latinx Jersey transplant living in the bay area. I am majoring in education with an inclusion of queer studies. I am practicing the idea of becoming an Oasis for my community as well as telling people how they make me feel. We only have today.

 

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