I eye the thin stretch of fabric between my legs. I am just eleven years old, but there it is. Silent tears fall. I have used all the rolls of toilet paper But the red doesn’t stop. I hug myself there in the bathroom until Heavy pounding shakes the door. I stand swiftly and pull the handle. A rush of water My breath catches A swirl of red and white arises Desperate now, I pull the handle, again and again. My tears cascade down, hot like the blood still flowing down my brown thighs. Despairing, I slowly open the door. Father. I am shoved aside. He sees my shame. His jaws clench Nostrils flare His white skin reddens in rage as he sees the water rise. His belt raises My screams punctuate each slap. Water continues to flow A steady stream of red Signaling I am no longer a child.
About the Poet:
Stephanie Simpson (she/her) was born in Japan and was raised as a military brat. Writing helps her process her experiences as a biracial, first generation Filipina-American. Topics she enjoys exploring include navigating identity politics, mental health, and intergenerational trauma healing.
Instagram: @living.between.the.lines
Twitter: @stephwaxpoetic
Ephemeral Elegies 
Great imagery! This was frighteningly funny day for me😊. Wish I had been better prepared. My mom told me nothing. Thank God for the guidance counselor at school. I might have been 12 y.o.
LikeLiked by 1 person