Just Like a Period (It Wasn’t)

I had leaves growing inside

of me, full of blood loved insides.

Beautiful broken fruits as

sweet as the strawberry juice

that smeared my legs like raspberry

jam.

No, tree trunks to hold me,

no clocks too tell the time,

as night reached me in second

as screams were the only presence.

I look to God covered in jam,

red strawberry hands,

red lipstick on fingertips,

why won't you disappear.

All alone in my own forest,

water rushing on too red covered

skin but yet, you won't be seen

clean.

The guilt is a knife in my throat,

like paternity clothes cooked

in the grease in my meals.

A white table for the doctor

too inspect with cotton knifes

and spiked white gloved hands

that pierce the inside of

my thighs.

That was all a dream...

Inside in a bathroom with four

walls, no way out but brown door

running.

I hold myself in vines, blood

on my body, screams from my

pink covered throat...a clot

in my hand.

Pain as sweet and as simple

in my stomach, crunching the leaves

beneath my bare feet.

I could not catch you.

Just like a period; you remind me of what I've lost.

Blood stained skin, crunched up

leaves, a hole in-between the wall

and I.

A crushed heart, so who can

fill the void of where a child should

have began and a life that

should have never ended?