Red

I found this remarkable poem a couple of days ago. Emma has an honest voice which quietly demands to be heard. I’m listening, as I feel a rare connection to what she has to say. Emma, respect to you; the stage is yours.

Musings of a Millennial

I dreaded the day I
would become a woman.
That dark red spot
was another thing to hate my body for.
It was another thing I
was not in control of.
It meant I was physically
ready for things I could not fathom.
It meant my body could
belong to a man,
when I did not even
want it.

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