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Sparky Mar 10
Inside my underwear I thought
A red flower had fluttered in,
And stuck itself there like sap.

Inside my underwear I thought
I had spilt a spoon of strawberry jam,
It felt so sticky on my fingers.

Inside my underwear I thought
A crimson blob of sea anemone
Had swum on out of me globosely.

Turns out it was only blood,
Only blood, only blood
I wasn’t even frightened
Even when it started hurting
I’ve always found it pretty
Growing pools of tulips
Inside my underwear.
Time may be elementary
moments lost in motion
Quiet periods provide
a power in between the lines
It's potency lies from within
Some gifts are given but not received
and hard to read for us to
see these silent signs
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Bruno Aug 2019
My birth certificate was written in the blood “she”
(I, me, they) would one day shed from the bleeding body
Given to me by who knows what (how does it bleed without being
Cut) because my ***** is not cognitive of what it is (nothing)
To me and my period is done to me you can’t know what it does
To me but it has nothing (nothing) to do with me

And I’ll never be able to speak of the violence it acts on me
To bleed (and bleed) and be called “she”
Because wars have been fought in my ***** (does
This mean I’m a war criminal) and I am all scars and all blood and my body
Is not a graveyard because a graveyard holds something but I hold nothing
I want to hold (nothing) for my period to stop being

Misgendered because “shesheshe” is not my being
“She” wants to be a prophecy but the violence of “she” slices me
The repetition of “she” of the tiny letter “F” in blood ink does (nothing)
Does battles on me (does violence) because the repetition of “she”
Is not enough to create a prophecy and words do not change my body
Believe me I have tried (I have tried) but nothing does

Because my body is vein-seeped concrete my body does
Everything I don’t want it to but somehow without being
My enemy because the wars fought in my ***** (on my body)
Were not fought by me and the violence of my body is not me
It is every ******* who has called me “she”
And the violence of my period compared to “she” is nothing

But my period wouldn’t be violent if it was labelled as nothing
If “she” wasn’t written in blood my period wouldn’t do what it does
(To me) but blood has no gender I have no gender “she”
Is not my *****’s gender because my ***** is an ***** being
Exactly what it’s supposed to be not “she” but me
(I, they) functioning as a reminder of the wars fought on my body

The concrete gravestones tumbled on my body
The victory celebration on my body where violence is nothing
Because “she” is nothing not concrete or a graveyard to me
So I will mishear “she” and I am free from what it does
From my birth certificate blood drenched burning “she”
Is gone my violence is gone I have brought myself (they, I) into being and

My body is not a graveyard it is a sanctuary “she”
Cannot enter nothing but my they-being
Can enter because I (me, they) know what it does
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Alicia Apr 2019
“Look at the state of you.”

Mum joins me in the bathroom,
Lays down next to me
And holds my hand.

I cry,
Unable to move.
My insides clenching,
churning,
cramping,
eating away at itself.
Blood dripping down my leg,
The sign of womanhood
Apparently.


Would it be too big headed
To compare my
Monthly pain with the state
Of the planet
Or the governments
Of various countries?
I could be so egotistical
That I say that we’re all
Laying next to a screaming
Figure, laying on a bathroom floor.

I won’t be a ***** about it,
So I’ll just imply it.
day twenty seven of escapril - the state of it all
Pretty girl Apr 2019
i am but a child with my eyes closed believing i am invisible
cloaked in my own curiosity
i tiptoe over sentences and ask about big words like
what does ******* mean?

My mama told me don't ask for it
What is it?
How do I paint my nails red without smearing the Polish?

When i felt (becoming a woman) run down my legs along went my wonder, childlike
My body was now poetic in the way it wrote verses across the pad
kiran goswami Oct 2018
Red, is the colour of​ Love.
Red, is the colour of courage.
Red, is the colour of strength.
Red, is the colour of bravery.
But then why does the red colour on my jeans, has to stop me ?
Why, every month do girls need to question their potential ?
Why can't I say the word 'PERIODS'  in public?
I'm afraid all the while,
This word has to be in hushed tones, in 'whispers', so that I 'stay free' of the whispers behind my back.
I need to carry sofy, so that I stay confident and comfy.
When my emotions have to be concealed behind the four walls,
But every night,
I fear that the wind would silently come while I'm asleep.
And would laugh and chatter with the trees about me insecurities.
  I know that my periods are my strength.
My periods don't cage me because I am a bird set free.
I am the Lady Bhagirath,
For I resurrect the sacred red river, once, every month.
Now I go out more easily when on my periods,
rather than staying at home and now I walk with pride.
Now I don't bring my pads wrapped in the black bags because I am not ashamed of carrying them .
I was Daddy's Little Prince who's now become a Wonder Woman.
So I tell every girl to walk with pride,
Not because they say
'Chin up princess or the crown slips'
But because I say
'Keep your head held high wonder woman or you won't be able to fly.
sunprincess Jun 2018
Second by second, minute by minute
Like twenty first century robots
The time keeper keeps periods of time
organized in individual slots

He dissects these periods methodically
Creating mysterious time lines
Cause that's his thing, his own thing
Just to blow away our minds
education
we
had
words
only
she
still
has
an
?













...
.­.
.
period
Smriti Ranabhat Nov 2017
Yes ! I am a girl
And I have a monthly guest
It comes without any messages ,without phone calls
Just with the flow of pain
Always endures me
I get lots of gifts
ache in bloatted belly
breaking back
Death hanging in the waist
pimples blush at the cheeks
Yeah ! I have periods
Red petals stain
in my beautiful white dress
like a bouquet of roses
These cease pains garden my womb
To be a  perfect clock
without tick tock and bell
But runs for  nine month
Just to change
****** ***** into a baby...
Being a girl is a bless with a free gift called pain .
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