Blood (Happy International Women's Day)

Updated: Mar 15, 2020

- I am not a feminist,


but when I see conglomerates

of blood in the toilet bowl, I feel my womanly womb

clench her muscles and my authority re-wild,

yet still modesty


and insularity heightens


still embarrassed if a cotton pad falls

out of the bag or if

red blood is caught on the sheets

like I have to be ashamed of soiling something - beside

someone who only exists because

we can bleed as human beings


I remember hiding period pads as a teenager

under the armpit

when I bumped into a boy in a shop

I remember too

my dying granny wearing a pad on her deathbed -

I guess cancer and age makes people incontinent


as we were babies so we become again in our old age


I tell the man that I can't have sex tonight because

I am bleeding - "you always say that," he says


Once a month, I say I say it, maybe more

because it's a brilliant get out clause.


But I'm lying and lied -


and lie


I haven't bled in ten years and when I say it now

to a man,


I say it with pride.


I am Bleeding and every drop of blood means victory,

womanhood,

control, and a letting go -


I am not a feminist but fuck me,

the redness of that red in the blood

is fascinating.


I am a painter so maybe I see differently,

but look next time and you'll see what I mean.


It has got every shade of crimson cream

He tells me "don't be so feministic, don't use it on the canvas"


If I do someday, I won't tell you


it would only enhance the work

and give off that sweet air of woman

that has been soiled for so long

by shame and shambles.














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