I like the way my blood stains the toilet bowl when I let it flow free from my keeper.
A rubber chalice filled with my shredded insides. My blood sacrifice to the sewers.
My womb bleeding inside me.
My womb raging against me because I have failed to provide it with a child to nurture.
“Another month without a purpose,” my uterus weeps, “another four weeks of being empty, barren and useless- you bitch.”
My body might be unhappy and upset, crying its bloody tears.
Twisting and punishing me with cramps and insatiable hunger for my misdeed.
My decision not to breed.
But- I am happy. I’ve no fetus to feed.
I am cheered by the sloppy, sticky, thick, dark, beet red spilling into still clear water sliding down the rim leaving an inky streak of myself.
A stain of my failure to abide by my bodies primordial need to breed.
Its passion for procreation.
Each menstruation cycle is my own personal rebellion against what I am supposed to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment