period.

The real separation lies not in what is between your legs

But what comes from that space

I mean, really. You think your dick is awesome?

You think your spread of seed is the end all be all of existence?

 

I can bleed for seven days and not die.

Trust that.

 

You will never know what it feels like to wake up in the morning with that dark stain on the inside of your twenty motherfucking dollar panties.

I say panties because the term underwear doesn’t cover white and blue laced imitation silk booty cut low rise sexy little things line.

 

That pissed off over bloated give me some goddamn cranberry juice while I sit and think about how secretly happy I am feeling.

You can’t know that relief. Cherish is. Hate it and love it at the same exact time.  That one of those loose nights you wanted to forget about far before you even came. That one of those could have been “the” night.  But mother nature canoodled you again.  Aunt flow couldn’t let that happen.

 

But that disgusting little remnant of some nest inside you doesn’t look organic.  And the tiny crimson droplets floating down in the ever glowing piss swim. A little.

The walk won’t give it away.  You cant tell from the shape of my thighs or the swagger of my hips that really I plugged my shit today to stop the “god awfully scorned” scar of why women are the devil.  The ever present reminder that we are the fallen. The evil. Or are we the persevere-ers. 

I mean, we can bleed for seven days. 

[tag team slam. kindof excited for thursday. and i dont know why this came in so wonky. oh well.]