The first time

I saw

blood

my mother cried

and I thought

I made

a mistake.

She said

there’s a revolution

in you

in our necks

and spines.

We house wars

under our bellies

they put us in

tiny rooms to

pretend

we’re simple.

They’ll try

to whittle

you into

a lighter color

thin your

words

into gossamer

whispers.

Your cycle

is a weapon

to

create

destroy.

Don’t you ever

hate the vast country

of your body

so they feel

safe.

I rolled her

syllables in

my mouth

until they

became

fire.