Born doomed
from mother to conveyor belt,
the heat of my birth,
the ripping pain of the rounded egg
brought forth nothing but my bearer's misery.
Still blind but chirping,
I call to her, "Mother, where are we going?"
as I tumble forward upon the hard, moving ground,
side by side with my unlucky brothers, who cry out your name
in the same childish squeak.
our sisters were picked clean and separated, somewhere dark,
somewhere mother knows.
Born Doomed
my folded wings are spread open and rubbed raw against the belt.
My limbs flail, and I peck at the stale air.
The first thing I see as I adjust to the harsh light,
are the giants.
Their eyes are long and smudged with red.
They usher us down the moving road with a rough, covered hand.
One caresses my back, and I pretend it was you.
The last thing I see
as I am rolled, pushed, and shoved,
are the blades.
And as my heart is minced,
I hear my brothers cry,
"Mother, where are we going?"
I am what I like to call a Banban vegetarian (반반 means half in Korean). I don't eat meat alone, but join in to make things less difficult when I'm with friends or family. Sometimes I feel sick if I eat too much meat. And I'm not sure if this is a neurological conditioning of pity I have for the animals that are born only to die under our forks. Or if I'm just a sensitive-stomached gal.
A few years ago I read Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals. It highlighted the cruelty and abuse animals face before they are butchered. It was a difficult and gruesome read, but I'd recommend it if you want to learn more about America's and Europe's meat industry.
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.