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
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

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