What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die, Right?” OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods. Don’t excuse him because he’s had at least three lite beers and is sweating through his black button down that his mom or exgirlfriend probably bought him. Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down by the last six girls he went on dates with after meeting them on tinder with a picture that’s seven years old Don’t excuse him because he’s usually such a nice guy because you don’t want to be a bitch because you don’t want to cause a scene because when you were seventeen your sister told you no one likes an angry feminist Tell him, Hey, Asshole: Let me explain something to you. Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven, a part of me tore itself to shreds ripped itself apart inside me and then remade itself. So yes, I bleed for seven days and I don’t die You know what else can do that? Gods. Immortal beings. Things of legend. Fuck, I can even create life. So I say, never trust anything that can’t bleed for seven days and not die. You know what that makes it? Weak Fallible Mortal. So let’s see, hon, What you’re made of. If you can bleed for seven days and not die. Rip out his jugular with your teeth. And when he bleeds for seven seconds and dies, spit on his corpse and say, I thought not.
Katherine Tucker (determined-in-slc)
