Women bleed.

talking to my social work student daughter this afternoon about some of the horrific statistics about the world-wide abuse of women. Painful and personal stuff. because my (faltering) instinct is to want to find creative ways to deal with and express the awfulness of things, I want to write a series of poems (from time to time) on aspects of this. in no way to I want to belittle the real pain of men, all human beings suffer, but there is a particular horror when you start putting together the big picture on rape, domestic violence, female infanticide, genital mutilation, inequalities of opportunity etc etc. thus this dashed off, faltering poem.


It seems that only women bleed
In hidden, darkened rooms of shame
Their being crushed by scornful lust
And wounds that do not have a name.

It seems that only women weep
For trampled dreams of might-have-been
For scarce-breathed hopes of tender love
Dried blighted brown when barely green.

It seems that only women scream
Within the silence of the womb
For life wrenched from its nurture place
While the whole world becomes a tomb

It seems that only women bleed
Lay down their hearts, forgotten, dead
Breathe only underneath their breath
Whilst angels weep for them instead.