The Struggle

Cold. So very cold.
It smells like iron and sterility.
The light hits my eyes like a freight train,
An unyielding force holds me firmly by my appendage.
My world turns topsy-turvy and I thrash violently against the oppressors.
Gigantic groping figures prompt me to do something
What do they want? WHAT DO THEY WANT?
I’m aware of a thudding on my back
And suddenly my body convulses against my will.
The intake stings brilliantly against my insides,
Threatening to rupture everything I had come to know.
The warmth sucked away from me a moment before,
Explodes abruptly in a burning passion from my throat.
The noise erupting from my bowels shocks me for a moment,
Then I greedily take advantage of my newfound weapon.
My world abruptly turns upwards once more,
And the giants permit me warm rough blankets to end their suffering at my commotion.
Little do they know their troubles with me have just begun.

I oftentimes wonder what my first breath must have felt like,
And sometimes I pretend that I know.