On that which starts and ends in the womb
I got pregnant in the summer of 2021. One month later, under the lights of planned parenthood’s finest fluorescence, I felt the exhilaration of fentanyl for the first time.
“This is the best I’ve ever felt,” I told the doctor as she tapped out the Mario soundtrack on my cervix with metal scalpels. “I can feel God in this Planned Parenthood.”