It all bled and bled and bled.

The hurt. The abandonment. The truth. The metaphors. 

It all bled.

It all bled so vicious and dark,
That I started wondering if my bitterness
started staining the crimson of my blood.
And painted it a stark black,
As I picked apart all that I lack.

And I bled and bled and bled like
The never-ending torture 
Of birth and death.

I bled in red
when I
entered the world
with the umbilical cord
wrapped around my neck.

I bled in red
when she
clawed me with her
long red nails. Screeching
was I, as if they were scraped
along a blackboard, shaking
and disturbed.

I bled in red
as all girls do
when womanhood enters
their innocent bodies,
leaving them ripe
as cherries, for the pickings
and the lickings.

I bled in red
from those lickings,
in raised welts
that were sticking
hot as melted wax
to my derriere.

I bled in red
when my cherry was popped
as a cork, coming off.
But leaving
fragments of what was behind
floating in the brine.

I bled in red,
when my sons
entered this world.
It was beautiful.