I looked forward to it,

Waited for it,

Checked every morning,

But when,

On Wednesday,

My first day of High School,

I say my thighs painted,

I wished it wasn't true,

I cried,

I cried for my innocence,

For purity,

For a life,

Where seeing,

My most secret parts bleed,

Was true,

Then the pain set in,

Stabbing, 

But the blood isn't a crime,

It's just womanhood,

So,

A year on from my first,

My panst,

Tye dyed pants,

Are lying on the other side of,

The bathroom floor,

I put my head between,

My legs and cry,

As quietly as possible,

So the men I live with,

For whom,

Paper cuts are the most sever pain,

Don't hear me,

And tell me I'm just,

Overriacring,

And that it is natural,

And all I want to say,

To them,

Is how the f*ck can,

You possibly know?