…but you won’t hear me talk about any ‘divine feminine’
i don’t know her.
and anyone who likes to define femininity by someone’s guts
doesn’t make a lick of sense. there’s nothing pretty about the way a pad feels
if you don’t know, it feels like sweating from your asshole
what?
if bukowski can say ‘coiled shit’ in a poem,
i get to describe the way an overpriced
heavily taxed
under available
mini diaper feels while i hemorrhage for a week
you bleed for about six weeks after birthing a baby
and, struggling to get mine to latch,
slouched in the rubbery chair in the nicu
i didn’t know i would get my period
immediately
and think i was dying
i felt a fool sitting in the stirrups being told
‘it’s just your period!’
oh, that’s all
so i get to bleed for seven weeks, then.
and they said breastfeeding would stave it off
everything about their version of womanhood
is a goddamn
myth
Emily Elledge (she/they) is a queer writer and wannabe illustrator from Mississippi. She lives in her hometown as a stay-at-home mom to one small child, a cat, and several houseplants.
