The Obligatory Period Poem
I write poetry, I am a young female voice,
and I am a feminist.
I know what's expected of me here.
There is some unspoken rule that we
each must write about menstruation, wearing
"functioning body" as a badge of honor.
We each need to scream it, make the blood beautiful.
And I do not disagree,
entirely.
I too wish I didn't have to hide the tampon in my
coat sleeve on my march to the bathroom
or cringe at each sound of
tearing plastic wrappers in the stall.
I wish I weren't ashamed of my reproductive system,
and I wish I could be beautiful
even as I am bleeding.
But maybe, some days,
I am just a girl who chortles ungracefully
at a condom caked in goopy pink.
I am just a girl checking her ass for stains
in every mirror she passes.
I am just a girl with no makeup on, sitting dutifully
on a toilet and googling the phrase "period poop"
with no thought of deleting her history.
The first time I had sex on my period,
I couldn't tell if I was scoring a point for feminism
or if my boyfriend was just horny
and willing to spill a little blood for his cause.
It was the kind of simple, sloppy wonderful
that you don't tell people about.
The kind of intimacy so real and tangible
it needs to be cleaned up after.
One body painting another, nothing near a
masterpiece but a small piece of art nonetheless.
And still I did not name it beautiful,
just ugly lovely and valentine red,
private, no need to parade
as something it's not,
natural, womanly,
with blood
everywhere.
YOU ARE READING
Moments Belonging to No One: A National Poetry Month Chapbook
PoetryApril is National Poetry Month, and I have decided, in honor of the month, to write 30 poems for each of the 30 days. A lot happened in my life throughout this month. Mostly what I wrote about was heartache, breakups, exhaustion, and the way life mo...
