Crimson

If my period stains are so dirty,

And the hair between my legs disgust you,

I wonder what brushed against your bald head

When you bid goodbye to your home for 9 months.

I wonder, why do the painted walls of your first home disturb you?

The walls that bore your kicks,

That hid your naked vulnerable body,

Are now breaking down.

So will you light up your home with kindness and care?

Or will you point at the red patch and stare?

To you it’s just a stain on a skirt,

But to her it’s only pain and hurt.

Won’t you allow her to bleed,

The one who kept you warm when you were in need?

Won’t you allow her to pray?

Won’t you allow her to play?

In the house she stays,

On her separate bed to lay.

I wonder,

Who are you to say?

Where she needs to stay?

She tore her body apart for your life to start,

And she still tears apart,

When you stare at her and laugh.

You would flow out in her blood,

If she didn’t choose to give you birth.

So remember,

If it wasn’t for the one who wakes up in a pool of blood every month,

That day you’d swim in a pool of blood but never wake up.