Photo courtesy of Cosmopolitan
We lock pinkies and swear
oaths stronger and more fearsome
than a man could dream
for blood is our birthright
so our ties are awash in it
drenched in a secret code
marked into the batik of our lives.
The spots untouched
by the sheer violence of womanhood,
those waxed over by by privilege
or the shelter of other, stronger sisters,
peek out from the fabric
Blood is our birthright
and yet – the haters, they claim it
their strident tones drowning out
the ‘wails’ of the women.
“Feminism is fraud!” they mock,
yet we must shelter them,
hiding their toxicity
fierce in its fragility
in our bosoms, our wombs, our wounds,
close to the blood’s flow…
for blood is our birthright.