The Red between my Thighs.
So it is The end of the month. I can hear my body cry, My skin so dry My eyes so dull I touch my skull A bone and an angle More of a love triangle My uterus loves Rouge I’m the prey They slaught The red between my thighs Can produce lives The veins and arteries Burst out of the fury To make me remember That I’m a woman To make me celebrate Not the bane of my womb But the sacred pellucid. The river which flows But floods every month The river of many things So pure and of rubies. And one day I’ll see A flower, to grow Feeding on me, on my rouge And one day I’ll see The world to appreciate me Of my pain, for the woman I be For one day they’ll celebrate My blood and me.
-Harita Rachh