Bleed

She sits upon the cold wet floor,

smell of soap and blood sticking to her skin,

A four feet away from the Gods,

A four feet away from men and

a four feet below them,

lest she find power without masculinity.

We'd tie ourselves to home, flock together, grip our hearts and our thighs in fear, watch with our visions geared,

just so men can roam around with their bits and wits dangling.

She had seen it in her dad,

And in the brothers she'd never had,

the way they sit like jagged rocks,

sharp and sore in middle of a serene lake.

The thorn that inevitably grows with the flower. 

With their gaze always a little lower, their scrutiny upon whether we're covered enough. 

Why aren't you cowering enough? 

Why don't you fuss over me enough? 

Take up after my mother and dote me enough. 

Sit up at night shushing my cries, like a babe just born, skin soft enough to bleed from a mocking smile. 

Cruel women why do you bleed me so? Cruel women why don't you bleed somewhere I can't see?