Nettle Pink is red watered down

we wimmin
we’re so messy
with our emotions
leaking out of us
like the blood between our legs

with our obscure aches
& our insistence on sharing
ambiguous feelings

so sloppy with our shrill
raised  claustrophobic voices
with our  quaint little mood swings
without a bra our breasts flop when we run

you keep trying to neaten us up
shave the hair that sprouts across our bodies
contain our blood in washed-out pink boxes
on the supermarket shelf

you keep telling us
to quiet down
to calm down
to loosen up

the thin ending blood
flows from me to the toilet
it sinks
a drop splashes on the white porcelain

i will not wash myself
as if i’ve been unclean
i will not lower my voice
when i say period
i will not buy your cute flowered scented boxes
i will not wear your specially ph-balanced deodorant

i will stand right in front of you
wearing a bright red dress & my leg hair
dark & thick as a man’s

if i feel like yelling
i will yell

and you will make no mistake
that you can package me
into something i’m not