I threw my period panties in the trash.
I have bled my last bloody Saturday, Sunday, Monday… ever.
White, 100% cotton
easily bleached
with salt and hydrogen peroxide,
cold water wash, then hot water rinsed,
granny panties.
I chuckled to myself
as I walked to the trash
and let go of reproduction
at the ending of my
genetic resurrection.
If men only knew,
how much time we spend
removing the evidence
of our own wounds,
if they considered the efforts
we started
as barely teenagers
to save our Guess jeans
satin blue skater skirts
and hiding our womanhood
with tie-dye, two pieces and tampons.
Would they wound us
so boldly
so flippantly, pettily?
Maybe you should run
from me
if your hopes are unclean,
unclear, murky,
or only self-serving.