Stains and collections of mistakes.
The blood we shed
so much easier
than what is carried.

Men folk don’t know
the strength required to
be a woman.

Blood washes more easy
from their hands.
Just like it’s easier
for them to walk away
from a life they helped
to make.

You go put a baby
inside her belly
with all your ideas
of what a man should
be for it to grow into the
person you wished
you could’ve been.

**This poem is going to be published in a chapbook and is owned by the writer, Vita.**