in a lonely white room with roses
red ones
as if my blood spilled on the floor
and you slipped around on it
like I was delicious finally
sticky like post-sex sweet love
oh we are born knowing how to do it
this particular sacrifice is what we do,
as women
we make you hunger for us
only when we split ourselves apart
and make it your art
to admire
our veins anemic
as you coat yourself ankle deep
in every drop of truth
that we squeeze out at any age
but particularly our youth
and we watch as your footprints
follow your shadow, they leave a trail,
they stain,
and you'll always remember
that blood never smells like roses
it smells like metallic shame,
like iron
and my gift to you is that strength,
and that pain.