14/02/2018
Always being told to keep our bleed hidden,
Always being told it’s too dirty to be seen,
that we are dirty and that this bleed is a burden.
A burden to the boys who squirm in the presence of uncensored power,
yielding in the face of red roaring rivers like a deer in headlights.
Poor boys, growing up believing women are weak and bleeds should repulse.
I remember hiding my tampons in the books and silencing the sound of wrappers ripping in toilet stalls.
How dare I have a period,
an inconvenience.
A nuisance.
Growing up believing I was too much just for being a girl,
because my body moved with the moon,
because my biology commanded I shed my skin and rebirth.
What a shame,
My daughter will understand the explosive potential in each cycle of her life.
Always being told our blood is something to be shamed of.
‘Don’t trust something that bleeds for 7 days and doesn’t die.’
Something not someone...
We bleed fire red,
emblamatic of the wild, majestic forces that tie the realms between life and death.
My son will know to revere this blood,
to honour the receptacle from which it is born and birthed.
I bleed...I survive....I thrive...I surprise even myself.
