Tag Archives: period talk


Does it make you uncomfortable
to digest this defective conception
that we, with two flowers, stems,
and one humble home for some
potential someones ~flower children~
must collect the soft pillow
they’d have laid their little heads on
in a soppy, sloppy bandage,
or else cork the very rite of passage
they didn’t go through, all the while
enduring the aching, constricting
push push push
without hopeful coaching? Yes,
just an empty ring, a pulpy fighter
alone in a pool of bright wet sweat
(and more) still dripping down their
nose tip and mixed with the soul’s
windows’ leak and the unnecessary
drip drip drip
of an optimistic IV far away, waiting
for the splashing crash of a tearing sac–

We drag our feet, clutch our centers,
have our cores carved until seedless;
our attempts to create will be needless
once our flowers hold no bud or pollen
and their stems bow their necks in defeat,
broken from years of holding up heads
filled with dread for the cringing, yucky
stares of onlookers not wanting to see
but staring anyway at the roadkill that is
our garden every three dime day (give or take).
They pass us by and shout disgust at us
and ours and our kind and we know
exactly why. Yes, we can understand
why you’d find it uncomfortable.