knocked up in ten minutes on a bus

it started with a whisper, 

aged three,

and didn’t understand why the sheep in the truck

that sped past my fathers landrover,

as we chugged down the motorway 

on a sleepy Sunday morning,

had terror in their eyes

and death in their bleats.


I learnt the word vegetarian 

aged four,

something I will be defined by until

aged infinite.


Aged eight,

exposed to meat for the first time,

ate a sausage for a dare (disgusting child),

the flesh that slipped down my throat

left a red mark on my stomach, 

and stained the inside of the toilet bowl black.

Never again.


Aged ten,

giving a presentation about factory farming to a 

class of ‘couldn’t-care-less‘

laughed out of the room for weeping at my own words.

Pigs boiled alive,

Sorcha never knows such ignorance again.


Aged twelve,

My dog dies.

I spiral into a deep sorrow that lasts until I 

can’t remember.

Death comes quickly and unfairly,

leaves behind a bitter taste,

and a desire to never love again.


I loved again.


Aged fifteen,

I become vegan,

last for three months before exhaustion takes me prey.

Sorcha is synonymous for failure,

but no animals were harmed in the making of this body.


Aged sixteen,

Crying mercilessly listening to pro-hunting propaganda.

The woman is drenched in the toxic stench of thousands of lives,

insects crawl from beneath her feet.


Aged eighteen,

I decide I no longer wish to be human.

The End

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