“Dude on twitter says, quote; ”I was having sex with my girlfriend when she started her period, I dumped that bitch immediately” end quote.
Dear nameless dummy on twitter;
You are the reason my daughter cried funeral tears when she started her period.
The sudden grief all young girls feel after the matriculation from childhood and the induction into the reality that they gon’ have to negotiate you, and your disdain for what a woman’s body can do
Herein begins an anatomy lesson infused with feminist politics because I hate you;
There is a thing called a uterus.
It sheds itself
Every 28 days or so
(or in my case; every 23 days, I’ve always been a rulebreaker- that’s the anatomy part, I’d like to add)
The feminist politics part, is that women know how to let things go
How to let a dying thing leave the body
How to become new
how to regenerate
how to wax and wane
not unlike the moon and tides
(both of which influence how you behave, I digress)
Women have vaginas that can speak to eachother.
By this I mean;
When we’re with our friends, our sisters, our mothers,
Our menstrual cycles will actually sync the fuck up.
My own cervix is mad influential, everybody I love knows how to bleed with me,
Hold on to that, there’s a metaphor in it!
Hold on to that!
But when your mother carried you
The ocean in her belly is what made you [indistinctive], made you possible
You had it under your tongue when you burst through her skin, wet and panting from the heat of her body, the body who’s machinery you now mock on social media,
That body that doing everything that was miraculous about it has sung you lullabies laced in platelets, without which you wouldn’t have no twitter at all motherfucker, I digress!
See, it’s possible that we know the world better because of the blood that visits some of us.
It interrupts our favorite white skirts, it shows up at dinner parties unannounced,
Blood will do that, period.
It will come when you are not prepared for it, blood does that, period.
Blood is the biggest side wind, and we understand that blood misbehaves,
It does not wait for our handsignal or welcome sign above the door,
And when you deal in blood over and over again like we do,
When it keeps returning to you, well,
That makes you a warrior and while all good generals know not to discuss battle plans with the enemy, let me say this to you, dummy on twitter;
If there’s any balance in the universe at all, you gon’ be blessed with daughters.
Blessed, and analogically ‘blessed’ means ‘to make bleed’, see now it’s a lesson in linguistics
In other words; blood speaks, that’s the message, stay with me!
See, your daughters gon’ teach you what all men must one day come to know;
Made of moonlight, magic and macabre, will make you the blood.
We gon’ get it all over the sheets and carseats
We gon’ do that
We gon’ introduce you to our insides, period.
And if you are as unprepared as we sometimes are, it’ll get all over you and leave a forever stain, so to my daughter;
Should any fool mishandle the wild geography of your body,
How it rides a red running current,
Like any good wolf, or witch
Well then just bleed,
Give that blood a biblical name,
Something of stone and [indistinctive]
name it after Eve’s first rebellion in that garden,
name it after the last little girl to have her genitals mutilated in [indistinctive], that was this morning,
give it as many syllables as there are unreported rape cases,
name the blood something holy, something mighty,
something inlanguageable, something in hieroglyphs,
something that sounds like the end of the world
name it for the roar between your legs,
for the women who will not be nameless here,
just bleed anyhow,
spill your impossible scripture all over the good furniture,
bleed and bleed and bleed on everything he loves,
- The Period Poem (Dominique Christina)