works shown in Our Bodies Our Blood, 2015


rhythm

    I stopped taking birth control when my prescription ran out;
    when my period came early I cried with a kind of melancholy
    petrified joy felt deep in my intestines.

          I told myself that I was not Capable of self-destruction, but
          that was never up to me.

there are clouds of menstrual blood billowing in the water of the toilet
bowl like a sun set, like refusal. my body says Drink of this flesh as
though it thinks itself holy. this is destruction, creation, the passionate
calm of a body wrenching out lack of potential — this is birth clothed
in carmine.

I am terrified of loss of control, terrified of loss. I feel grief in my uterus,
feel pain in my stem cells, feel the melting of my walls when it rains.
I have written about my hips before but I feel you nestled in their
sockets when I walk.

    I can’t help but panic when I realise : I am incapable of controlling
    my hormones through thought, the only way for my body to mend
    is through knowledge embodied in my cells,

          if I make my hands into fists
          they will not be able to beat this cycle into submission.

there are clouds of menstrual blood billowing in the water of the toilet
bowl like a sun set, like refusal. my body says leave this restroom
standing straight no hunchback no vulgarities no shame because this
is a reminder : your Self is carnal. your Self is here.