'Like Raspberry' is a poetry collection exploring themes of womanhood and menstrual experiences, aiming to bring these often-hidden topics into open conversation.

Like Raspberry

 

The moon hangs heavy, a silvered dime,

Lost in the velvet cloak of night's prime.

A hush descends, a whispered plea,

As nature stirs, and whispers to me.

No gentle breeze, no starlight bright,

Just a knowing ache in the fading light.

A primal rhythm, a secret song,

That pulses deep where I belong.

 

The girl I was, with ribbons and lace,

Fades in the mirror, a wistful trace.

The woman emerges, strong and bold,

A story etched in stories untold.

She understands the earth's slow turn,

The burning sun, the lessons we learn.

She feels the tide, the ebb and flow,

The seeds of life that start to grow.

 

And then it comes, a subtle shift,

A stirring deep, a whispered gift.

A sign, a symbol, ancient and true,

The crimson river, flowing anew.

Like raspberry, thick and sweet,

A sacred offering at my feet.

A testament to the fertile ground,

Where life begins, where dreams are found.

 

Some see it as curse, a painful stain,

A monthly burden, a source of pain.

They hide it away, with shame and dread,

And wish it gone, the words unsaid.

But I see power, a vibrant force,

A connection deep to nature's source.

A reminder that within my womb,

The universe itself finds room.

 

This blood is not filth, not something unclean,

It's the essence of life, a vibrant sheen.

It's the shedding of what could have been,

A potent promise, forever green.

It's the lining prepared, with love and care,

To cradle a soul, beyond compare.

And when no seed takes root to grow,

It flows away, a silent woe.

 

But in that woe, a strength resides,

A resilience that forever guides.

For every cycle, a chance to renew,

To nurture myself, and see it through.

To cleanse the spirit, release the old,

And embrace the future, brave and bold.

To shed the layers that no longer fit,

And stand reborn, with newfound grit.

 

The cramps may come, a fiery dance,

A reminder of the body's trance.

The bloating swells, a heavy weight,

But I will not succumb to hate.

I honor the pain, the discomfort too,

For it's part of the process, strong and true.

It's the earth rebirthing, a fiery birth,

A grounding force, of infinite worth.

 

I remember the stories, passed down low,

From grandmother's whispers, soft and slow.

Of moon lodges deep in the forest shade,

Where women gathered, unafraid.

They shared their wisdom, their tears, their fears,

And celebrated the passing years.

They honored the cycle, the sacred bleed,

And planted the seeds of future creed.

 

But modern life, with its frantic pace,

Has stolen the magic, erased the grace.

We rush and we worry, we hide and we lie,

And disconnect from the earth and the sky.

We medicate, numb, and push it aside,

The wisdom forgotten, the power denied.

We lose ourselves in the sterile white,

And forget the darkness, that gives birth to light.

 

So I light a candle, a flickering flame,

And whisper a prayer, in nature's name.

I honor my body, its strength and its grace,

And embrace the power in this sacred space.

I soak in the tub, with salts and with oils,

And nurture my spirit, after the toils.

I let the warmth soothe, the tension release,

And find inner peace, a gentle ease.

 

Like raspberry, the blood flows free,

A vibrant symbol of what I can be.

A creator, a nurturer, strong and wise,

With ancient wisdom shining in my eyes.

I am connected, to all that is,

To the earth below, and the heavens' kiss.

I am a daughter, a sister, a friend,

And my power extends, without end.

 

I see the beauty, in the blood's deep hue,

The life it represents, forever new.

The potential for growth, the chance to mend,

A journey that never seems to end.

I will not apologize, nor feel ashamed,

For this natural process, divinely framed.

I will celebrate my womanhood's might,

And bathe in the darkness, and rise in the light.

 

The moon still watches, a silent guide,

As the crimson tide begins to subside.

The cramps diminish, the bloating fades,

And I emerge stronger, from nature's glades.

Refreshed and renewed, with a clearer view,

Ready to face whatever comes through.

Grateful for the cycle, the gift, the pain,

And ready to live, and to love, and to reign.

 

So let the raspberry stain, a mark of pride,

A reminder of the power that dwells inside.

A testament to the strength I possess,

A connection to nature, I must confess.

For in this blood, lies a story untold,

Of resilience and courage, brave and bold.

And I will embrace it, with open arms wide,

Like raspberry, flowing with the tide.

Like raspberry, forever I will abide.

Like raspberry, I am alive, deep inside.

Womb shedding

 

The crimson tide, a whispered dread,

A monthly visit to my bed,

Not of slumber, soft and deep,

But of a pain that will not sleep.

A ballad I shall weave for you,

Of womb's lament, and body's hue,

A tale of shedding, fierce and raw,

A woman's burden, ancient law.

 

The first faint tremor, low and slight,

A premonition in the night,

A subtle shift within the core,

A gathering storm I know of yore.

The bloating starts, a subtle swell,

A prisoner trapped within my shell,

My clothes feel tight, my skin stretched thin,

The battle brewing deep within.

 

The cramps begin, a gentle tug,

Like tiny fingers, pulling snug,

Around my womb, a gentle squeeze,

A promise whispered on the breeze.

But gentle soon gives way to might,

A searing pain that fills the night,

A twisting knot, a fiery brand,

A demon gripping with its hand.

 

The lower back, a throbbing ache,

A constant pressure, I can’t break,

My muscles tense, a rigid shield,

Against the onslaught, unconcealed.

My legs feel heavy, made of lead,

Each step a burden, filled with dread,

The world around begins to blur,

Lost in the pain, I softly purr,

A whimper low, a silent plea,

To make this agony set me free.

 

The nausea rises, green and vile,

A bitter taste behind my smile,

Or where a smile should bravely be,

Replaced by grim reality.

The appetite, a fickle friend,

Demands for comfort without end,

Then shuns the food with sudden pique,

A game of torment, cruel and sleek.

 

And then it comes, the crimson flood,

A bursting dam, misunderstood,

As simply "monthly nuisance," slight,

Ignoring the internal fight.

It flows, a river, dark and deep,

A secret sorrow, I must keep,

The lining sheds, a painful tear,

A testament to life held dear,

And lost, perhaps, or not yet sown,

A future harvest, yet unknown.

 

The pain intensifies its hold,

A story whispered, yet untold,

Of cells dividing, breaking free,

Of hormones raging violently.

Prostaglandins, villains bold,

Contracting muscles, stark and cold,

Inflammation spreads, a fiery kiss,

A symphony of bodily distress.

 

I curl up tight, a fetal ball,

And pray for strength to stand up tall,

Against the waves that crash and roar,

Upon my body's fragile shore.

I reach for heat, a comforting grace,

A heating pad to warm the space,

Across my abdomen, a gentle balm,

To soothe the raging, inner calm.

 

I take the pills, the bitter dose,

A temporary cease of woes,

The NSAIDs, a valiant stand,

Against the pain's demanding hand.

But even they, with all their might,

Can only dim the burning light,

The throbbing pulse remains, a drum,

A constant rhythm, never numb.

 

I close my eyes and try to breathe,

A mantra whispered, to believe,

That this will pass, that I'll be strong,

That I can make it, right the wrong,

That nature's cycle, though severe,

Is part of life, and I am here.

A woman forged in fire's heat,

Prepared to face, and to defeat,

The pain that tries to bring me low,

The inner strength I come to know.

 

The mood swings shift, a sudden storm,

From tearful sadness, to disform,

A fragile peace, a moment's grace,

Before the anger takes its place.

Irritability, sharp and keen,

A snapping turtle, seldom seen,

But always lurking, just beneath,

The surface calm, a sharpened sheath.

 

I crave the darkness, quiet, still,

A sanctuary upon the hill,

Away from noise, away from light,

To navigate this painful night.

I shut the world out, block the sound,

Let silence be my safe surround,

And listen to the beating drum,

The rhythm of my body, numb,

But slowly healing, day by day,

As crimson tides begin to sway.

 

I think of all the women who,

Throughout the ages, suffered through,

This monthly trial, this painful test,

A hidden burden, unexpressed.

Our mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and friends,

The silent sufferers, without end,

Who bore the pain with quiet grace,

And left no mark upon their face.

 

I find a strength I didn't know,

A resilience that begins to grow,

A deep connection to the earth,

To cycles of rebirth and birth.

The womb may shed, but it will mend,

And life's potential will transcend,

The pain, the sorrow, and the fear,

A promise whispered in my ear.

 

And as the days begin to pass,

The cramping lessens, alas,

The bleeding slows, the pain subsides,

And hope within my spirit hides.

The bloating fades, the tension breaks,

The heavy burden, gently shakes,

Itself away, and I can stand,

A stronger woman, in this land.

 

The crimson tide begins to wane,

A memory of passing pain,

A lesson learned, a battle fought,

A victory hard-won, dearly bought.

And though I dread the coming days,

When once again the torment sways,

I know I'll face it, strong and true,

With courage, born anew.

For in the shedding, I have found,

The strength that lies within, profound.

This is the ballad of the bleed,

A painful truth, a planted seed.

A woman's burden, understood,

A crimson tide, misunderstood,

No More.

Another Taste

 

The clocktower groaned, a rusty hinge of time,

As Silas walked beneath the pale moon's climb.

He’d sworn off taverns, whispers in the rye,

He sought a different solace, under a different sky.

His breath, a frosted dragon in the air,

Chased shadows down, fueled by a strange despair.

He held a secret, buried deep and low,

A yearning that he couldn't let men know.

 

For Silas tasted blood, and not the warrior's kind,

Not spilled in anger, left so far behind.

He tasted crimson, born of woman's grace,

A forbidden nectar, leaving not a trace,

Except within his soul, a brand, a burning shame,

A craving that whispered, fueled by hidden flame.

 

He’d met a woman, Elara, fair and free,

With eyes like summer skies, a wild untamed decree.

She lived outside the village, in a cottage overgrown,

With herbs and ancient secrets, whispered on the stone.

He’d brought her firewood, helped her mend her roof,

Drawn to her quiet strength, her solitary proof

That beauty could exist beyond the judging gaze,

Beyond the rigid morals of their narrow, fearful ways.

 

One evening, she was tending to a wound,

A scratch upon her arm, beneath the rising moon.

The blood, a ruby bead, welled up upon her skin,

She wiped it with a cloth, and Silas stood within,

The doorway, frozen, caught within a trance,

As primal urges stirred, a dangerous, silent dance.

He didn't know the source, the pull, the aching need,

He only knew he yearned, a desperate, buried creed.

 

Elara saw his struggle, in the flicker of his eye,

A battle fought within, a silent, anguished cry.

She smiled, a knowing curve, a wisdom etched so deep,

"There's darkness in us all," she said, "Secrets that we keep.

But fear not, Silas, what the body craves,

For nature holds a power that the righteous often raves

Against in ignorance, a fear of what's unknown,

A seed of truth corrupted, fiercely overgrown."

 

She invited him inside, a fire softly glowed,

The air was thick with incense, stories yet untold.

She spoke of ancient rituals, of women's sacred flow,

A life-giving elixir, whispered long ago.

She told him of the moon's pull, the earth's deep resonance,

The cyclical connection, beyond male dominance.

She offered him a chalice, filled with wine so red,

"A touch of something deeper," was all she gently said.

 

He hesitated, trembling, his heart a frantic drum,

Torn between his training, and the desire yet to come.

The shame he felt, the guilt, the fear of what he'd find,

Battled with the yearning twisting in his mind.

He raised the chalice slowly, to his parted lips,

And drank the crimson liquid, in hesitant little sips.

 

It wasn't just the wine, he knew, with every rising tide,

But something mingled in it, something deep inside.

A metallic tang, a primal, earthy scent,

A taste that both repelled and oddly, strangely sent

A shiver down his spine, awakening something lost,

A connection to the earth, whatever the dire cost.

 

He lowered the chalice, his eyes met hers with dread,

"I…I don't understand," he whispered, softly said.

Elara touched his hand, her gaze both kind and strong,

"You taste the life force, Silas, where you don't belong,

According to the teachings of your father's creed,

But nature knows no judgment, plants no wicked seed.

This blood, a sacred symbol, of creation's might,

A source of power hidden, banished from the light."

 

He left that night, bewildered, changed in ways unseen,

The taste upon his tongue, a vibrant, haunting sheen.

He fought against the yearning, prayed for it to cease,

Tried to drown the memory in acts of pious peace.

He fasted, scourged himself, confessed his sinful thought,

But nothing could erase the lesson he was taught.

 

The craving lingered, subtle, yet profound,

A hidden current swirling, underneath the ground.

He found himself drawn back to Elara's hidden place,

Drawn to her wisdom, and her knowing, gentle grace.

He learned of ancient herbs, and rituals of old,

Of goddesses and cycles, stories to be told.

He learned to see the beauty, in the messy, raw, and real,

The power that the patriarchy tried so hard to steal.

 

He didn't understand it fully, couldn't quite explain,

The connection he discovered, through the source of woman's pain.

But he felt a shift within him, a softening of his heart,

A recognition of the balance, playing a crucial part.

He saw the world anew, with clearer, wider eyes,

The sacredness of life, beneath the judging skies.

 

He never told another soul, the secret that he kept,

The taste of crimson knowledge, while the village soundly slept.

He knew they wouldn't understand, would scorn him, call him mad,

Condemn him for embracing what made him feel so bad,

So different, so alone, within their rigid frame,

But he found solace in Elara, whispering her name.

 

Years passed, and Silas grew old, his hair a snowy white,

He tended to Elara, throughout the day and night.

He honored her traditions, the cycles of the moon,

And found a quiet comfort, fading all too soon.

When Elara finally passed, beneath the autumn sky,

Silas felt a part of him begin to slowly die.

 

He closed her eyes with reverence, and whispered a soft prayer,

For a connection that had lifted him beyond despair.

He took a single drop, a final, parting taste,

Not out of lust or craving, but respect, not to waste

The essence of her being, the wisdom she had shared,

The secret understanding that they both had cared

So deeply to protect, from the ignorance and fear,

That poisoned the minds of men, year after year.

 

He lived out his remaining days, a changed and humbled man,

Remembering Elara, and the lesson he began.

He never spoke of blood again, but carried in his soul,

The understanding of the cycles, making him whole.

He knew the taste was complex, not for all to know,

A pathway to connection, that the shallow could not show.

And though the world would judge him, if the truth were ever told,

He found his peace in knowing, a story to unfold

Within his silent heart, until his final breath,

Another taste of life, and then the sleep of death.

Room for Blessings

 

The moon hangs heavy, a silver coin,

Lost in the velvet of the night,

A silent witness to the pain,

That grips my soul with chilling might.

For months I’ve prayed, a fervent plea,

To cradle life within my womb,

To feel the flutter, wild and free,

And break the silence of the tomb.

 

We painted rooms in shades of hope,

A nursery bathed in gentle light,

Imagined tiny hands to grope,

For stars that glittered, pure and bright.

We spoke of lullabies to sing,

Of bedtime stories, softly told,

Of laughter’s echo, sweet and ring,

A future woven, brave and bold.

 

Each month a dance of anxious dread,

A tightening knot within my breast,

The hopeful visions in my head,

Put to the ultimate, cruel test.

I charted cycles, tracked the tides,

And measured every sign and gleam,

Believing love could conquer tides,

And manifest this precious dream.

 

I poured my heart into the task,

A fertile garden, rich and deep,

And wore expectancy’s fragile mask,

While secrets in my body sleep.

I swallowed pills and tasted steel,

And welcomed needles, sharp and keen,

For life’s great, precious, painful deal,

Demanded sacrifice unseen.

 

The whispers started, soft and low,

From well-intentioned, loving friends,

“Just relax, dear, let it go,”

As if a choice could make amends.

They didn’t see the silent tear,

That traced a path across my cheek,

The burning ember of my fear,

The words unspoken, soft and weak.

 

And then it came, a crimson tide,

A tidal wave of bitter truth,

The fragile hope I held inside,

Now drowning in the face of youth.

A cruel reminder, sharp and stark,

That nature held me in its sway,

A chilling shadow in the dark,

That stole my sunlight clean away.

 

I stood before the bathroom glass,

A stranger stared back, pale and worn,

Her dreams like shattered pieces, mass,

Upon the floor, forlorn, torn.

The future I had dared to crave,

Now vanished like a morning mist,

Leaving a wound I couldn’t save,

A hollow echo, coldly kissed.

 

I knelt beside the porcelain throne,

And wept until my eyes were dry,

A desolate and mournful groan,

A spirit yearning for the sky.

The cramps arrived, a twisting knife,

That mirrored pain within my soul,

A brutal mockery of life,

That claimed its cruel and bitter toll.

 

“Where are you, God?” I cried aloud,

My voice a whisper in the gloom,

“Why am I lost within this cloud?

Why is there only space for tomb?”

The silence stretched, a vast expanse,

A universe of deafening sound,

As if He offered no romance,

Upon this barren, sacred ground.

 

I thought of mothers, filled with grace,

Who held their babies, warm and near,

The gentle smile upon each face,

Erased all doubt, and banished fear.

I watched them pushing prams along,

Their faces radiant, clear, and bright,

And felt a pang, so sharp and strong,

That threatened to consume my light.

 

But then, a flicker, faint and small,

A whisper deep within my heart,

A gentle rain begins to fall,

A brand new story to impart.

A voice that rose above the pain,

And echoed through the empty space,

"There's room for blessings, yet to gain,

Beyond this momentary disgrace.”

 

This room I see, it is not only meant

To hold the life I thought would be.

It’s meant to hold what God has sent,

The blessings He has chosen me.

Perhaps I am too focused on,

A single path, a narrow view,

And miss the dawn, before the dawn,

The graces, faithful, strong, and true.

 

Perhaps this pain, this aching void,

Is shaping me in ways unseen,

To find a purpose unalloyed,

A strength I never could have gleaned.

Perhaps my heart, so full of love,

Can nurture other seeds to grow,

And rise above, like soaring dove,

Where compassion and kindness flow.

 

The tiny lives that need a hand,

The lonely souls who yearn to feel,

The hurting hearts across the land,

Whose wounds my love can start to heal.

The skills I have, the gifts I hold,

Can be a beacon, shining bright,

A story waiting to unfold,

A source of hope, a guiding light.

 

And maybe, in the fullness of time,

When healing comes, a gentle breeze,

A different path, a different climb,

Will bring a joy that truly please.

A child may come, in ways unknown,

Through open arms or fostering care,

A seed of love, divinely sown,

A family built, beyond compare.

 

So I will rise, with weary grace,

And dry the tears that stain my face,

Embrace the future, interlace,

And trust in love’s unwavering trace.

Though shadows linger, deep and vast,

I’ll seek the light, with open eyes,

For even when the die is cast,

There’s room for blessings in disguise.

 

I will create a space within,

Not just for children of my own,

But love for every child, within,

The seeds of greatness can be sown.

I will embrace this journey’s bend,

And find a beauty in the grey,

Until the very bitter end,

And hold the hope that lights the way.