Creative Writing

Period

Sharp pangs

Stab my stomach

On my back,

In pain.

A hole inside of me,

I am not complete.

My vagina is a gateway for the other.

I want to take a needle and pierce the eye with red thread,

I want to sew together the lips that engulf my emptiness.

Red.

Flesh.

Raw.

My external skin is tough,

But my insides are not.

I am permeable.

I am vulnerable.


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18/02/2019

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Katherine Childs


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