Females are a miracle.
Every month the inner walls of our center, our being,
where all of creation is birthed,
is extirpated and shed
And where there is growth,
there is also pain.
Accompanied with a flower that weeps
and wails tears of blood,
gushing a mercurial and sanguine
Each month a part of us dies
to make room for the new.
We are demonized and dehumanized
for what our bodies do behind clothing
and outwardly silent,
yet inwardly our bodies scream
through the thrumming, throbbing, and drumming
of uterine tissue ripping itself apart.
We should be celebrated, raised up, and honored
through agony and the walls of our womb liberating itself.
We bring life, we hold it, we nurture it, we caress it,
we set it forth, we set it free; we are power and magic.