"menstruation" poems
Oh! There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.
My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.
The needles in my
Lower back fill my
****** with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.
I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore ******* feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?
A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
A strange weather pattern
Appears up in the sky,
And a strange sludge splatters
Into onlooking eyes.
Menstrual matter falls
From the great godless clouds,
The people struck with awe
As they run, scream alloud.
A trickle turned downpour
Of radiated blood,
Now drowning in a storm
That yields a *** flood.
Dropping violently in pints, gallons, and leagues
We become fossils under a ************ sea.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
I was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its life
I feel the November
of the body as well as of the calendar.
In two days it will be my birthday
and as always the earth is done with its harvest.
This time I hunt for death,
the night I lean toward,
the night I want.
Well then--
It was in the womb all along.
I was thinking of a son ...
You! The never acquired,
the never seeded or unfastened,
you of the genitals I feared,
the stalk and the puppy's breath.
Will I give you my eyes or his?
Will you be the David or the Susan?
(Those two names I picked and listened for.)
Can you be the man your fathers are--
the leg muscles from Michelangelo,
hands from Yugoslavia
somewhere the peasant, Slavic and determined,
somewhere the survivor bulging with life--
and could it still be possible,
all this with Susan's eyes?
All this without you--
two days gone in blood.
I myself will die without baptism,
a third daughter they didn't bother.
My death will come on my name day.
What's wrong with the name day?
It's only an angel of the sun.
Woman,
weaving a web over your own,
a thin and tangled poison.
Scorpio,
bad spider--
die!
My death from the wrists,
two name tags,
blood worn like a corsage
to bloom
one on the left and one on the right--
It's a warm room,
the place of the blood.
Leave the door open on its hinges!
Two days for your death
and two days until mine.
Love! That red disease--
year after year, David, you would make me wild!
David! Susan! David! David!
full and disheveled, hissing into the night,
never growing old,
waiting always for you on the porch ...
year after year,
my carrot, my cabbage,
I would have possessed you before all women,
calling your name,
calling you mine.
27.1k
Sometimes it comes and I see it
and at Times it doesn't
I wait for it like I wait
for phone calls and text messages
and When it comes it comes
with all this pain
I can't endure it
Starts from my feets feeling weak
to my back feeling like it's broken
to my ***** feeling so swollen
to red dots all over my body
mixed with mood swings hating
everything
and everyone around me
makes me wonder at times
why I was a women But yet again
it has its blessings For only
a women can take all that pain.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
I don't appreciate
bleeding for nine days straight
Flow so heavy I wanna die
at the silliest things I start to cry
the annoying things never made me twitch
but now I just go full *****
I just lie around like a lump
And everything, I want to ****
Simply, I have no motivation
Golly Don't I hate ************
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
I sit and try and be a lotus
after killing the third fly of the evening
with a pocket book of recipes and a
thirty centimetre ruler stolen
from bathroom **** measuring contests to our knees.
Young professionals tread these boards
and I watch, trying to paint them lotus.
I listen and learn like I was told to do
then clock watch, mop, cycle home to you;
I am still trying to be a lotus
even in wet shoes and no socks.
With less than five-hundred pounds to my various names,
an office-chair-cum-clothes-horse, eight USB charging ports
and a future that stretches to Sunday’s last reluctant second,
I am sitting, trying to be lotus figuring out the professional path
David Attenborough heard in his gentleman’s class: that son of a-
- I walked into an army recruitment vault with dreams of being Gulliver,
though was asked to leave out the cat flap cathedral door back into war
as they’d got their laugh and didn’t applaud.
Perhaps I should’ve been better at maths
where apparently a career can be predicted on a scatter graph,
and the pigeons of today were the pigeons of next year and the months that’ll follow the century after that.
I am still trying to figure out the hoo-ha of ************
and ring fingers and collar sizes and the inner circles
of hyenas when the winter solstice splits the seasons.
There is no reason for this lotus procrastination
when what’s there to live for but a crooked world
and one bandage left.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
When my imaginations
started stripping in front of me
and I saw
its naked body,
I realized
stains of blood
on my white beautiful cloth
and I cried a lot
Do not know why
Maybe I was afraid of the pain
that will return to me
in every month
or fingers, eyes
that will point out on me
if I could not hide bright red stains
on my cloth
But I was not knowing
those drops of blood
will grow into
bones and muscles
tiny eyes, hands and fingers
and the most beautiful smile
Those are the brave drops of blood
that could make me
a “Mother”
before which
neither pain nor fear
matters
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
Take me to your leader
Let me be your probe
Love me, **** me, Bleed me, Burn Me
Have and to hold
Wedded Interstellar
Transcending god through ***********
Outer space bliss
Green as the sea through ************
Galaxies kiss
Give birth beautiful star
We will meet our end
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 5:26 AM UTC
When the topics of
*birth, birth control, ************ periods, moon-blood
or any other "issue" involving female bodies*
arrive in conversation,
men just need to shut the **** up*
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
And after that I am still a hollow where the
fairies hide from darkness and poisons. I
am still growing flowers out of my womb
and that is why they stink like ************
And after that your disbelief kills all my
sparky pixies and after that I cannot be
anything more than a hollow hollow. But
yeah I am still growing flowers out of my
wound and that is why I scream and cry
when you touch them.
And after that the stillness of the air inside
me and the remnant echo of morning songs
attract the darkness to come. And after that
I think she may feel lonely so I invite
poisons to also come along.
And after that I am still growing flowers
out of the wound on my womb. They still
stink like ************ and after that
vomitting feels like womanhood thing. And
after that my flowers are still immortal and
that is why sometimes you see blood clot
floating around the moon.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more
Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons
Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well
************ sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses
Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses
Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses
Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
I came along to your garden, to see your chillies growing
Unaware of what laid in wait, or what was really showing
There stood a glass a lidded drink, familiarity of knowing
If that's what I think it is, I don't want it overflowing
Do my eyes forsake me, is that a fluid from the body
Is that froth of a good beer, or from a head that's shoddy
Does it look like what it is, a very dodgy toddy!
Ghoulish drinks will turn you green, like Goblins are in Noddy
What the hell you thinking off, with water that's distilled
It smells like the local gents, so it should not be spilled
I don't mind a special brew, but this time I'm not thrilled
Unusual cocktails are okay, but not ones you have filled
Aren't beverages supposed to be, refreshing and thirst quenching ?
You say that it's good to drink, but really it's gut wrenching
An endless supply you may have, but it should be toilet drenching
Don't ever make a wankers drink, by using a fist clenching
You wouldn't want this drink on tap, it defies imagination
It's just the same as a lady, drinking her own ************
It maybe the water of life, but it's just urination
Aqua vitae is not my idea, of a real drink designation
Even just the thought of it, makes me feel sick and hazy
To drink a glass of this stuff, you must be ******* crazy
Well talk about recycling, or are you just bog lazy
Is Harvey Denton related, or do you live in Royston Vasey
People like to drink sometimes, is there something I have missed
You seem to have your own ideas, but with a certain twist
A brand new meaning you have brought, to getting yourself ******
Golden showers are one thing, but that's when your sexually kissed
There's one thing I'd like to know, so what do you say
Why do you think that drinking **** will keep the germs away
It cant be very good for you, it's an inside body spray
Your just drinking toilet water, hay Jay are you ****** today ?
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Sitting calmly aligning in-between the three sitters
Adorn with a silk from milk
Thinking about the libido of her crown
Like a star lost in the galaxy
After seeing a Ghanaian movie
A sudden push through her opening
as placenta push through during birth,
as water break through from underground
a cloth of blood, fought through
She felt it,
she saw it,
But what to do? What not to do? and how?
Was a question demanding an answer,
Like a man lost on the crossroad
On his wedding night,
On his bed
Close to the bride like a ****** bird
To be and not to be like Shakespeare
She shouted
What is this?
Blood!!!
This is the making of a woman
An end to her holiness
A new spring of emotion and pain
No more daddy and mummy play
Remember "Always" always
When the visitor is around
you are now a woman
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
Anne crutched her way
over the grass
from the nursing home
to the white seats on the lawn
and sat down
in one of the chairs
and threw her crutches
to the ground beside her
I sat in a chair
next to her
she had on a blue skirt
and white blouse
her one leg stuck out
from the end
of her skirt
the other kids played
on the swings and slide
or walked around
avoiding being
near Anne
I wonder
if the nuns have periods?
She said suddenly
I don't know
I said
might explain
their crabbiness some days
she said
I nodded my head
unsure of the topic
periods of what?
I asked
she looked at me
sternly for a moment
you don't know?
I shook my head
gazing at her
it's ************
in real terms
she said
none the wiser
I looked at her
hair dark
and almost shiny
where she’d
brushed it so much
do you know that?
no not heard of it
I said
she sighed
and looked at me deeply
do your parents tell
you nothing?
not about
************ anyway
I said
my old man told me
about the Plague of London
in 1665
and rats and stuff
**** the Plague of 1665
she said
this is real stuff
it may come handy
one day to know
I doubted it
but said nothing
I looked back
at the nursing home
for rescue
do you know anything
about the female cycle?
She said
my friend's sister's cycle
didn't have a cross bar
I said
remembering Jim's sister
and the bicycle
I sometimes rode
no no Kid
not that kind of cycle
her body cycle
I noticed as she moved
on the chair
her leg stump
became visible
when a female
gets to a certain age
her body gets prepared
to put an egg
in a place in her body
ready to be fertilized
ok?
I saw the stump clearly
it looked like the end
of a plump elbow
Kid do you hear
what I am saying?
Yes
I said
good
now if the egg
doesn't get fertilized
by a certain time
her body gets rid of it
in a cycle
and she bleeds
the whole package out
right?
It didn’t sound too good
but I nodded
what kind of egg?
I asked
what do you mean
what kind of egg?
A ****** human egg
what do you think
a ****** hens' egg?
She sighed deeply
and I wondered where
she bought her one shoe
how old are you Kid?
10 nearly 11 years old
I replied
studying her black shoe
and wondering
what she did
with the other shoe
what's fertilization?
I asked
looking up at her
sitting in the chair
her eyes focused on me
go ask the nuns
they'll know
she said snappily
ok
I said
I will
she reached for her crutches
and said
right Kid
let's go to the beach
out of the eyes
of the *******
and their reach
and so I walked
beside her
out the back gate
and onto the path
that led
to the sand and sea
blue skies
white clouds
seagulls
and Anne and me.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Pretend piety,
Of the temporary variety,
Placed in a shine of "I am better than you high society".
Your words are intelligent,
Your words hold weigh,
But my sentiment makes your feeble words tremble and shake.
It has taken years of mental ************
To develop the concentration,
To compose these compilations of rhythmic translations!
You think you are the victor,
You feel you have won,
But this is no mere battle, it's a ******* war...son...your pain has just begun.
Because we don't need five minutes alone,
To crush any poem,
But reaching the masses and in between is where, I, call home.
Love and pain are parts of the game, but so are other emotions,
So merely beware, your pen must dip a little deeper into far vaster oceans,
If you think you can contend to my level or quotient...
My friend....
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Today is the anniversary of another trip around the sun for the woman I love more than any other.
Happy Birthday to my mother, Elise
who drew me a picture of the female reproductive system
and labeled the parts
and explained the process
of ************
before my body ever had a chance to frighten me
who taught me the word
******
and taught me that there was nothing silly, or shameful, or icky
about the word
or having one.
who taught me
that people are inherently the same
and humans are valuable
and the meaning of the word
humanity
and the value of justice
and the meaning of the word
"injustice"
and consistently confronted it
often uncomfortably
but un-apologetically
whenever we found ourselves in its presence
Who responded to compliments
about my appearance as a child
with humble disinterested grace
and taught me with intention
in everything she said and did
that what is valuable about me
is my mind
and my heart
kindness
spirit
ethics
righteousness
some may say too much of the latter
who taught me about Janis, and Sylvia, and Frida
and Roe v Wade
and punctuation and articulation and diction
and the Serenity Prayer, and that Galway Kinnel poem about what is still possible...
I love you Mom. I could go on forever. My love and my gratitude for you - and what you have gifted and instilled in me - is bigger than the universe and eternity and possibility.
So glad you are with the sweetest child in the whole wide world this evening.
Loving and sending you love and bright light so hard.
Micah Haverly 2015
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
I cannot eat
you from here, please,
come closer.
You are a flower
blooming in the
wrong season, no,
this isn't always about
you. So when
I sing to you I
sing to wind and
it was you who raised
my voice, so
high only
bats can hear.
Ruby or blood,
I am gonna have them both.
You don't worry
anyway because it
is my growth.
It's not ************ anymore.
And nothing to
do with pregnancy. The
stomachache is
genuine -- so pure and poor,
melodious chemical reactions of leftovers.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Det varme brød ånder på træbordet
Sukker, efterlader spor af tilværelsen i sveden
Smurt ind i olie
Som mine lunger nu er smurt ind i tjære
- så blev det hele værre
Mit sind er nok sort nu fordi jeg fodrer det
Med hvide vægge og blå kameler
Farver indersiden af mine øjenlåg med nøgne løgne
Fordi sandheden er som en knytnæve der tæver
Og blod
I skridtets indre maskineri
Der fungerer som en rulletrappe
Kører alle de ufødte børn ud
Kyler alle de ufødte børn ud
Skuffer moder jord igen
Er ************ og abortion nu egentlig ikke det samme?
Jeg drømmer så der står blomster ud af begge ører
Danner min egen rosenhave
Venter på en gartner graver sig gennem torne og forestillinger til han når
De indre vægge i mit rytmisk, blodige hjertekammer
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
Mother superior had dropped the gun,
Seeing the victim was her very own son.
There a saint was made to run
Drowned before the rising sun.
Messiah born on the first day of June,
Posing as a religious boon.
Preaching that the end is soon,
All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon.
Superiority held in the form of prayer,
Faith maintained at the behest of a dare.
Professor Lodz has lost his bear.
The Omega deemed this loss as fair.
Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation
Asherah has stopped all gestation,
Coming from a fit of ************
Working on a new form of taxation.
Jesus just took one huge dumb,
In the sink after snorting a quick bump.
The man had reached quite the slump.
Catching HPV from Fergies’s ****
Mohammad is eating all the pork.
Using hands, forgetting the fork.
******* chicks, with all kinds of torque,
Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork.
Dinning on delicious swine.
And the finest forms of delicate wine.
Prophets of the world align.
And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
(5/25/12)
They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.
They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.
With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now “ they had all the power”.
Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night , being drunk
They would start to fight.
She started feeling some ************ pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.
Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.
He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.
She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.
She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you’d ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.
They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.
His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
I
Tomorrow waits in the dried plant bones
splintering balcony karma
next to the ****** galatic twilight.
Moon poems paralyzing yonder
one color chess matches on transcended leather
--thigh laughter buried alive in rubble
under fifteen cushions of red flesh.
Let's go wave our bottom banners undying
in the realm of lifetimes and its spontaneous chases.
Plethora inhales
from one-legged warlords under fragrant wash pillars
obstructing the pilgrimage
of wrapping my stranger
around a blade. The second blameless pantheon
of Christianity.
II
put down the flowers,
thought scars
from a thirsty delusion
that taste the industry instruction
deep in meditation spoons
that pierce the sides of students. Heaven rains/*angelic ************
on the obscure sail drifting towards the horizon
--a mad-religious shape
from the bottom banners undying
III
there isn't even the smallest incense
that the earth's door shortens,
an attempt in debt
to defame the impregnable summer
with washroom axes
on the grape's night before you and I snap.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
1/
I once had hands like ************ and
when i touched your cheeks you became
bathroom floor.
I didn't tell father i am keeping the
bathroom ***** but i wouldn't let anyone
clean it.
My roommate is sleeping like a pig; i think
i, too, am becoming a higher being.
2/
Back to where it started
It started in somewhere like this;
the very beginning of despair
and all the dark agony
clouding your entire soul ---
it appears on your
skin so do not hide!
Do not hide
for you are so clear yet the world
is too blind
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC