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.