no-one knows what it’s like
inside this blood-stained
loneliness
twelve years
of ‘unclean: don’t touch’
a decade and more of
discomfort
my body drained
by the constant issue of
blood hard edges of rejection
chiselling away
at my self-respect
the whispers
ruthless unforgiving
keep away
don’t touch she is unclean
heavy
with the pain between my loins
tired of being ostracized
weary
of the fruitless search for help
my spirit hemorrhaging
with the blood
I long
for the bleeding to stop
