• Amrita Singh

There's Blood on my Hands

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There's blood on my hands There's blood on my pants Red. Seeping through my body into my clothes I do feel the dull ache, Just below my stomach, It's increasing every minute; But I do not know what is happening to me. No, I have not been stabbed No this isn't a murder scene I am 12 and this is my menses arriving They told me it will arrive every month But never did they mention It will be accompanied by a pain that feels like a hard punch But the punch isn't playful or limited to one It is harder, faster and in rapid succession And the best part? It lasts for four days or more The arrival was unbearable but the departure is brutal too And yet, every 28 days I wait, eager for it to appear In constant fear that it will be irregular. Now, I hug it like the comforter on my bed Curled up with a hot water bag. Craving things, and throwing a zillion mood swings I am a girl No, I am a woman now

With blood on my pants.

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