A Red Letter - reply to the Period Poem

Once upon a time a princess lived with her evil step mother
And one nite, the moon turned full and red and fell into her lap
So she bled...

But the evil stepmother made her sit
Still and stoic in the middle of her menses
Waiting for her father to ride home to the rescue
And the evil stepmother - who would not even give
The princess as much as a regular napkin
Went on to write the celebrated Period Poem

Oh, it had all the simile and imagery
Of an ode to Girl Power and a smackdown to patriarchy
But like all those stories about Columbus and Betsy Ross
The period poem was just a blood-clot fairy tale

Written by a siren who lied on her husband
And forged her own mother's name to pay for the
Fake breasts that she stole

Perhaps that’s why the period poem feels paper thin like onion skin

Fabricated like the author’s freckles

Courtesy a tattoo gun – not actually a kiss of sun

Like the author leads us to believe

But, any façade with holes in it is easy to see thru

And a snake may have spots but with a leopard it's never confused

The rust in this harpy’s heart makes her kisses taste like irony

And while her hips used to be my chalice

I could never drink her Koolaide

I watched her too many times put on hijabi headscarves and

Pretend facing Mecca only to pray to the false idol

In her own mirror

As an actual Muslim, I never bought the Bible Myth

Never thought God made women bleed simply cuz

Eve convinced Adam to eat from the apple tree

If that were really true, then Adam was the one who had the vagina

Some say cupping is a healing ritual for bad blood

Others say its masochism

So I guess I have to suffer her back stabs

Till she gets sick of kissing Massa

She likes to cover my cuts with her diva cups

To collect my blood for a burnt offering

Because her own bone marrow is dis-Abeled like Cain’s

Dear Dominique

Time to let this protest go and

Stop using your menstrual flow for a minstrel show

You’re acting no better than Doctor Sims mutilating his slave Anarcha

To give the world the gift of gynecology and

A product we ironically call Stay Free

And it may just be me, but when you abort

The fetus of your teenaged lover who used to be your student

You no longer get to call yourself an "educator"

But pedophiles are like hemophiliacs on heavy days

So you’ll probably hemorrhage your humanity away 

But no one is fooled anymore by your pools of fake blood

No one  really confuses you for Audre or Gwendolyn

And you’ll never be an Angela or Assata born again

No – You be the Judas, blowing kisses of betrayal

Bleeding out into a potters field

You be like that Black nurse down in Tuskegee

Spreading syphilis to her own people

Youre the FBI snitch giving up Fred Hampton’s apartment blueprint

You be the self-hate that blew Malcolm away

And no matter how many times they

Update your image, you’re still the same old Aunt Jemima

With house negro blood still bleeding thru your parentheses

As for me, I have plenty of problems but "lying bitch" aint one

So I wrote 99 verses to nail on open mic temple doors

Dear Dominique, you get a big fat red F on your test and on your chest

For failing Aunty Carlotta’s legacy

For misappropriating #believeblackwomen

And for inspiring #SheLiedOnMeToo

What happened to Epstein and Cosby might just happen to you

And I hope they get R Kelly soon

In the meantime Ill be doing my best Hannibal Burress impression,

Laughing while her ugly sweater slowly unravels

And that princess at the beginning of the story turned out just fine

Because she bleeds the same DNA as mine

 That  lil soldier sat still and stoic in the middle of her menses, unbothered,

Praising Allah for unconditional love of her father

Oh,and  remember the moral of the story:

Try to touch  and get touched back

Some like to think they run with wolves

But me, Im an Alpha – I run the whole pack

This  here's a red letter
Written by a aqua bearer
Dedicated to my Aquarius daughter
Cuz our blood gets thicker
When its mixed in with water

But lemme just note - 

That this is just a prequel

The end of this poem is a. Dot dot dot, and 

I’ve already written a sequel…