Ode to My Period Stained Panties

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The unintentional “destruction”

of my sexiest pair of panties —

a $3.99 baby pink cheekster,

lined with lace that hugs hips

covered in self-inflicted scars.

 

Replacing you would not be hard, at all

but I am not ashamed or disgusted by you.

 

My most cherished work of art

a reminder that it is a privilege to be

the sole creator of the masterpiece

that I have the potential to become,

that if I am not willing to see

I will never bear witness to the beauty

that resides within everyone

 

seems to crave control over the life

that my uterus has given to you

 

are rinsed and dried to a brown

as deep as the skin of enslaved women

forced to literally birth the capital

that this country has built and

sustained itself on — our lives.

Now, I understand why

my sisters and I bleed and ache

more than the other girls do.

 

Replacing you would not be hard, at all

but I am not ashamed or disgusted by you,

 

My most cherished work of art

a reminder that I am

the sum of my ancestor’s triumphs

a novice to the complexities of Black womanhood

an artist, I am free.

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