There is so much blood in a woman's life.
When she is born from another woman,
She is covered in it.
All through out her childhood,
There are scraped knees and missing teeth.
The first sign of her coming adult hood,
Is blood, betrayed from her own body.
The first time she gives away a piece of herself,
To love, or circumstance, or by no means her choice,
There is blood, bleeding away a piece of herself.
Then, when she gives another life,
There is blood.
In the baby she loves,
And coursing through her own veins.
Every day her child is outside her,
She bleeds, but this you cannot see.