Nature has deemed fit to bless the female form with monthly...troubles
Once taboo to speak of
Many grew up ignorant of their own blood
Only that it's purpose signified
Their readiness to be sacrificed
Lower than cattle, owned, bartered
A son meant continuation of line, of name
A woman was an acquisition
Nothing more
Many a young maid, trembling on her wedding night
Forced to open her heart, her ****** body
To a man, hopefully gentle
That she had only just met
Let alone speak to
A groom preferred his bride
Meek and mild
Untouched by even her own hands
To know pleasure was to be a wanton
Nothing pure could be so passionate
When our very nature dictates us to be so!
Society views our struggle as
"Having come a long way."
How reprehensible to say such a thing
When we are still victimized
Underpaid
Objectified
Abused
The media flaunts only those
That are deemed "beautiful" by a panel of judges
When in fact all of us radiate
For we are governed by the moon
*Our very *** harnessed by her silvery pull

As you watch your lover leave,
Allow yourself an eye for a
Week upon their character; on
How much remains.

If less than you thought,
You'll know how
Much of it was
You.

We're all
Part
Someone's
Illusion.