Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Iz Jul 2019
I didn’t hide it this time
I didn’t bundle up my mess
I didn’t  disguise it in cloth
I did leave it there
Open in the trash for people to see
Knowing the twisted necks and judging faces that will follow  
I did acknowledge how women it is to be ashamed
But I remind myself
not all blood comes from wounds
Isabella Bennett Mar 2016
Search. Find. Push.
******. Ouch. Nothing.

Sitting; uncomfortable.
Stand. Walk. Ouch.
Nothing.

Blanket and a mirror.
Search. Find. Push.

Standing.
Search. Find. Push.

Pull. Splatter-print red on plastic.
Leaving sliver of string attached to puffy cotton. Dangling.

Check. Finished. Blood.
Pull.

Search. Find. Push.
******;ouch;nothing.

Search find push.
****** ouch nothing.

Repeat repeat repeat.
This was my poem for International Women's Day. It features my personal experience with tampons and uses the art of words and poetry to showcase a simulation of that experience for men or people who do not use tampons.
Remedy Jan 2015
I was needed by one person.
They used me to clean up their mess,
to protect others from seeing.
I absorbed their blood, their mood swings,
everything about them that others hated
but I loved.

They tossed me, without a second thought,
on the street for others to laugh at.
Without knowing whose blood stained me,
they saw someone used up to the point
of being nothing but a disgrace to the public eye.

After everything I did for you,
you simply used me and left me to be judged
like a ****** on the sidewalk.
I legitimately saw a used ****** on the sidewalk of a shopping district, and this is what I thought of.

— The End —