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

-vulnerable… weak?


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.