Trying to find a seat
through corridors smelling of deja vu
I’m bleeding like a stuck pig
And I smell of the blood that I have carried in my arms
Collectively, for the sins that Eve has committed.
Supposedly.
I’m bleeding
And no, this isn’t an instance I will embrace this
As a sign of my womanhood or my fertility
I’m bleeding my humanity,
Through an organ that can only be legitimately mentioned
When there is something in it,
That goes back and forth,
When it can be grabbed, spat on, spread or fisted
As degrees of tightness, wetness, and taste debated
Well,
My vagina tastes of blood
It smells of blood
I smell only blood
blood smeared delicately over my desire to please
blood dripping from a toilet seat, a bed, or corner of the house unseen.
blood that questions it’s role as a necessary function to breathe.
I am blood.
Ashamed.
Betrayed by my own kind.
Editor’s note: This poem was submitted by an anonymous writer. If you would like to write anonymously for Resonate, please email us at info@weareresonate.com.