I hate bleeding

I bleed once a month.

Sometimes,

More than once

Sometimes,

Only once every three.

It hits me hard,

Every time.

Blood comes in buckets,

Huge clumps

Plump pockets where a baby coulda been

If I had just been’

Came in.

Boy I’m glad nobody did,

At least, within semen involved.

It would kill me

Rip right through me

Break the other half of my spine and

Grip me in death’s refinement

I would die out of sorts–

In epic proportion.

Whoever comes out of me would soon been

A source of great misfortune

People are torture

To ourselves, and to each other

I’m grateful for the bleeding

Only because it means

We are all fortunate

When the blood rushes in,

That means one less trauma.

I owe nothing to you, mother.

Nature called and told me she thinks

You would’ve had grandkids if you’d just

Divorced him.