Melt the lump rising in your muscle.
Burst the pulse swelling in your mind.
Take a ride to the haven in your veins.
Carve pottery from the remnants of your ashes.

I understand the pain that stings your abdomen when you hustle.
I know how much those harsh periods confined you.
Your eyeballs screamed out the stigma found in your stains—
colors that made rainbows when they flashed.

It wasn’t your fault.

I know the stains may shame you,
but believe me—you won’t die.
Don’t lose the fight to that material you can’t afford.
There are days coming when your body will leave this cave of ignorance.

There is a solution that will change the game.
There is something called antibiotics that will dry your tears.
This red fluid is called menstrual discharge.
It isn’t an illness.