I say that I am fine
You reply
I know
I say that it doesn't really matter
And you don't reply
I go
It doesn't really matter
I go
It doesn't matter at all
You don't go
Anything
At all

I say I'm fine
You say that you know
But
Your concern is
Is fine
Although, I go
Don't concern yourself with nothing
I go
Don't concern yourself at all
And you
Don't go
Anywhere
At all

Today is Menstrual Hygiene Day
But I don't feel very clean
Because you can wash the outside
But even in 2015
Even in these realms of gender equality
And liberty on how to be sanitary
There's no solution for
internal Hygiene
And my blood that's not blood
This muddy flood more than ******
Is somehow still obscene

Today is Menstrual Hygiene Day
Today is a day I am 'on'
The switch is flicked
Blood engaged
And desirability gone
A secret leak, girls so meek
Whisper requests to friends
For dry bleached cotton to stuff and to mend
A recurring trend of defence and anxious bends
To stop the sprawling reddish brownish stain
Of the unexplained fertile woman shame

Today is Menstrual Hygiene Day
Girls in this world are dying and sick
This day promotes an unfortunate fix
Of our wealthy model that still prefers *****
That shows ***** on screens but never female produce
That allows 'I have a cold' but not 'I'm losing some ******'  
'feminine hygeine' aisles,
not 'period supplies' or 'Menstruals'
Disguised packets essential,
to store myself in,
Yet I've never glimpsed the contents of a sanitary bin,

It's Menstrual Hygeine Day
I hygienically ******* today
So I don't understand why this man
Will feel me on his chin and hands
But when the calendar strikes four
It doesn't do it anymore
I'm on and your off
I'm on and turning on stops  
Between my legs this mess
These dregs of last month make me less
Than my best or even a success
At being a woman despite my *******
And my fully functioning, leaking flesh
The appeal is repealed when you feel some real feels
And I continue to walk without showing pain  
To avoid any questions I cannot sustain

Today is Menstrual Hygiene Day
I take my pills for my mahogany strain
I didnt realise from my first stain
What was normal for bloodshed and symptoms and pain,
My packets talk in grams and the doctors in millilitres
My bedsheets spoke volumes and mattress screamed deeper
My knickers whispered ****** and my thighs of a foetus
Stressed and grievous
I don't live in Nepal, I'm lucky for my resources
And the understanding nature of modern social forces
You haven't  degradated or segrated this hateful female fate starting
But I'm far from delighted with the slight common sense parting
When I've seen these secret unfair truths
As normal until there's something compare to
Why do we teach shame and silence
For another simple act of natural violence?
Why will you handle dirt and dead meat,
But not a person alive and craving your heat
And I am sick of my flowers  and unclean until the even
Of my life and one quarter of my natural season

Today is Menstrual Hygiene Day
But I don't feel very clean
Because I've washed and washed the outside
But there's blood all down the seams

Stop telling the kids
That what you do is who you are
Stop telling the kids
That your work is the mark
Stop asking the kids
What do you want to be?
Or- start accepting answers of
‘Nice’ or ‘safe’ or ‘happy’
Stop telling the kids
What they want to do
Is who they want to be
You’ve confused the English
A verb where an adjective should be
Stop telling the kids
How they serve the economy
Is the same as their personalities
How will you make money for someone else
In your lifelong campaign to sustain yourself?
Is this what we ask at the age of three,
To know how to act socially acceptably?
Save the inaccurate labels of ability
For dinner parties and PTA meetings
And ask the kids
What kind of grown-up do you want to be
Or better, what would you like to see?
What’s it like being three and what do you dream?
What should I want to be?

In a dire little spire's shadow
A form pitters, admires a sad show
A girl of the world waits on the drab stone
Waits to unfurl the curl of her mad bones

Hurrying the boldness
To give those bones flight
Into the noblest
Last act of performance night
or exercise in masked spite
Irrelevant, an embellished fate
She crouches, contemplates
The height, the likely injurious spate
The form flounces around the wait

This **** of this morning
Almost hawk of forlorn dawning
Sures it's tastes, titillates
Red shine in the eye reflects
Mind's highs and shy delections
Foreseeing shards of residual head spread
Over acutely angled limbs
and digits subtracted and mangled

To no surprise she rises
It sizes up the prize that provided
An answer to lies so hideously divided
And a thirst for the worst that insidious lives wish
Saviour of absent behaviour
No try, no cry, no mind for saving her
A foot left the paving, the body flailing
Regaining
On gravity and the audacity
Of life's magnanimous, massive, flaccid needs
A sound of pained muddle hounds the cease
Years regain in puddles on the dusty concrete
A prayer said alone from a just, husky tree

***** and undetected
The monster's expected scorn ejected
He moves now towards the poor unsuspecting's rejected
Silhouette of chance and dances dankly in his delected
Tragedy of red majesty and death's rich tapestry perfected

I could be some relief
To Fantasy in chief
Commanding ships spur
And all who sail in her
I could twist and dismiss and insist
I could enlist opposition to resist what now exists
But I could not try
And inspire any real reaped desire
Only brusque verse or something wrier
I could not slink and hint and smoulder
I now think what I would evince is far colder
No feminine wiles
Just the end of the smiles
And the bell  of reality's child
Sounding loud to astound a man
Resiled from the myth of desires plans
Would a reflection of your own ***** affections
Of lip curled, showing familiar perfection
Of a tone deep, making lone directions
Be to Fantasy's fan planned infection?
Or does the candle light these perceived shames,
Setting the secret world of 'wanting' aflame?

Crouching demon on my bed
Flouting reason, bringing dread
Crouching demon of yesterday's me
Vouching freedom for shamed crazy
If you had eyes they'd surely shine
But to some surprise I merely find
Instead of sections of fear and fire
A gaunt reflection of my reared desire
Crouching demon, don't choose me
I fling freedom at a bruise I call envy

Do not decline
To design
The time-line
Of my mind

Do not agree
To foresee
A degree
Of debris

Just decide
To subside
At my allied
Beside