Not All Blood is Sacred, by A. Lux
It is 2 pm and my mind is loud I know only one way to silence it.
I tear my skin apart, This skin
that fits too tight
I run the blade across my arm like the bow of a violin Until the blood flows down my arm like the melody of apathy.
Soon this life giving nectar will stop flowing. The blood of my hatred. This isn’t the first time I’ve cut, I know how the blood flows and how each cut will scar.
I think of this as blood letting. I don’t do this to die, I do this so I can still be alive tomorrow.
Once a month new blood comes calling
This time I do not control it. It is thick and clumpy A red so brown I see dirt, It is dirt. Dirt that does not carry a seed So it will be replaced. Bleeding out this lining protects me.
The blood of my womb
This blood is a miracle, But to me it feels like hell. Because I’ve been defined by this blood. With my menstrual blood they write “It’s a girl” And with the blood I scrape from my arm, I write “I’m not a girl”
My religion is full of stories of the miracle of blood,
The blood on the door that saved the first borns,
that ran from every pore,
that makes my scarlet sins white. I think about that a lot, How that night Someone else held my suicidal thoughts in his arms
And he bled, He bled like I do. That was blood full of love,
But not all blood is scared.