Period Piece Poetics

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.51 #2

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed like me…

“It’s a damn shame.”

I say to myself in a way so no one else will hear me.

“It’s a pain.”

I proclaim as I can’t rest today when my insides are pulsing with moon.

All the world born from our womb.

Yet we are silenced with the claiming that to be treated equal I must pretend

to be the same.

Pretend

every month

again

pretend.

Pretend I do not see nor let anyone else see…I bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when it brings me to awareness with all senses flaring as I, woman, embrace my place in the Universe’s cycle.

My place in the visual connectedness of me to Universe through season’s of blood which bring forth life.

Beautiful blood held close in the womb emptied to feel again, begin again, heal again…

Damn shame I am meant to keep this magic to myself.

For I am medicine woman.

For I am woman.

We take our stance to heal the place of the her.

I taste her blood and give thanks for it’s existence.

Give thanks to the monthly sacrifice of self and time and comfort for life to exist.

I hold her blood.

I hold my blood.

I hold alls blood.

I give thanks for it and it’s pained keeper.

“Thank you for this taste of life again.”

She circles through.

Each time I taste her.

Each time I thank her,

each time for each one.

Each time for me.

It’s a shame to be alone in all this lovely bleeding. When so many bleed and have bled…

just

like

we.

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.52 #2

More ways than one.

I am ill today.

In more ways than one.

Heavy insides ready to burst forth with my blood sacrifice for this month. The pains are thick, so is the emotion.

Also,

my brain works differently than some and I know this.

I have always known this.

I have been told by doctors all through out my life that the polar oposites of me can make life and love unbearable. Pills forced down my throat at a young tender age.

Forced down by wishful thinking of cures.

Cures for my brain.

The way it thinks.

The way it feels.

The way it acts out. . .

but I feel. . .

I feel like my brain is wonderful and lush with swirls of creation and thought I love to delve into. The only problems I see with my brain are the labels and pills that were beaten into me that now I swim through to find my genuine thought.

The last few days have been heavy with emotion and reflection. So today I rest and let the pains and tears lull me to sleep because…I am ill today… In more ways than one.