by Cadi Cliff
CW: menstruation, abuse
I feel my body break open
and bleed for you
when we least expect it.
At the worst moments.
All over the new sheets.
It’s nothing short of a sacrifice
to you, from me.
I’m giving you my life blood
daughters unknown, sisters in agony
doubled over, knotted insides
roping together a narrative
– of hormones and abuse
– of public toilets and tissue paper
– of exhaustion and strength.
We bleed in fury, in resistance
across your marble floors
and parliament chairs
across your sanitised streets
where you tax us
block us up with cotton-wrapped debt.
The red runs from me
into gullies and rocks
out into the wide plain of tomorrow.
Our blood is our own.
Featured image via Getty
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