I want Oxytocin I want to be induced
I want what little dignity I have significantly reduced
I want my waters broken in a ceremony medieval
I want a pessary if necessary for healthy baby retrieval
I want a slice into my abdomen I want my baby timely ripped
I want so much coursing through my system my heart rate is dipped
I want to hallucinate that I’m a fish in a multi-coloured mural
I want to die I want to cry I want an epidural
I want a sweep, long and deep, I want pain I can’t describe
I want to vomit everything I make an attempt to imbibe
I want a feeble three-centimetre dilation and associated dystocia
I want as many people in the room as possible to observe my discomposure
I want stitches that suppurate and a wound that leaks
I want this to continue for days or preferably for weeks
I want contractions which end ferocious yet began benign and mild
I got all that but you know what I also got my child
