Monday, March 8th, 2010
I Don’t Menstruate, But…
By Jacob Steele
1. Fag. Faggot. Queer. Cocksucker. Dicklicker. Dyke. Carpetmuncher assmuncher ass-spelunker. Assfuck asswad gaywad fuckwad fucktard retard reject fuckhead dickhead asshat candy ass pansyass sissyboy ladyboy fucktoy oh boy.
2. Scrotum. Clitoris. Vagina. Penis. Anus. Rectum. Prostate. Labia Minora, Labia Majora. Semen. Clitoral hood. Anal sex. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. Use a condom! Urethra. Glans. Female ejaculation. Multiply orgasmic.
3. Vulnerable. Communicate. Love. Heart-to-heart. Spiritual connection. Soul mate soulsister. Celebrate. Respect.
Can we talk now? Is it OK? Really?
My body has a penis, testicles. Pectoral muscles, biceps—hair in weird places. Does that make me “man?”
I know what it is to fall so hard in love with a girl that it hurts, a fucking bonfire of passion, love and lust no one could ever have felt this way before she is greater than the entire Universe…the smell of her, sweat and saliva, fingernails, vagina—I can’t get enough it drives me wild there is no end to this love. She is amazing.
Does that make me “masculine?”
I also know what it is to be wrapped up in arms stronger than mine, strong enough to pick me up—or beat me down. To kiss a bearded face, to have a man inside me so deep so thick I think the Universe can’t even hold it and still I want more want the impossible there could be nothing else but this feeling, this love.
I also know what it its like to be fucked and fucked over. I speak about co-dependency from experience. Ask me how I am? I’ll tell you how he’s doing.
And to receive. And to cry tears of joy, appreciation. And to let people in.
Does that make me “feminine?”
My vagina pleads for recognition. I don’t mean some ill-advised metaphor for my faggoty-ass. No—I mean my vagina. Rumi said out there, beyond right and wrong, there is a field, and he’ll meet us there. That field is embodied by each one of us. Beyond this silly physical manifestation there is a being—being human. This penis is manifest, erect, smiling, gone now the habit of conquering, the quest, violence, for behind it, in that field, more subtle but maybe more powerful my vagina speaks, says “Women, find your masculine. Men, find your feminine. We are all yin and yang and to deny one half is to live half dead.
Listen you each other.
Listen to your Self.
Happy International Women’s Day!
I know it’s not much of an essay, let alone a poem, just my experience with menstruation. I had my first period when I was 11 and by that I time I already knew about the crucial importance of keeping my virginity, even though (apart from half-hearted attempts when the issue was due in school) I didn’t know shit from shinola about how to loose it. Seeing as my mother was a nurse I did know about the technical aspects of menstruation and its implications; to this day I am grateful, especially when meeting yet another young woman my age who doesn’t really know what happens with her body.
However, shame, covertness, and a couple of lies for good measure were the main advisers on talking about related issues, such a sex (my mum always used to tell me, there was nothing special about it anyway, people shouldn’t make such a fuss, no fun whatsoever…).
Back to the menstruation. In order to safeguard my virginity, I was forbidden under all circumstances to use Tampax. At least until I was safely married and “unvirginified”. Until I was 16 I was irrationally afraid of Tampax. But that has changed; as it is said in the Book of Excretions 4,25: “Lo and behold! Thou shall use whatever the fatwa thou liketh when the stream of Eve runeth.”
My Bloody Period
By Iman Ashour
I got my period during a trip with my dad, stepmother and sister where we were staying in a fancy hotel downtown B.C. I was just recently diagnosed with endometriosis – medical condition that renders women susceptible to heavy and intensely painful periods. Dad was aware of this…
So, I got my period and I had forgotten my painkillers back in Saudi. I was on the floor all curled up in the fetal position and crying from the immense pain when my step mother walked into my room upon my young sister asking her and father to come see me as I was crying.
She was all dressed up as her and father were planning to go out. She told me that they will leave me in the hotel room because I was acting up in an attempt to spoil this trip for everyone…
So, off they all left, father, his wife and my younger sister. They left me with no money, no drugs, and contact info in case I needed help. They were gone for the day.
As the hours passes I kept bleeding, losing volume and gaining pain. At one point the housekeeping lady knocked my door and came in because she heard my cries. She called 911 and I was hospitalized. I was given I.V fluids and morphine then was given a pain killer prescription and discharged back to my hotel.
The hotel took care of all the medical and transportation bills, they just billed everything to the room.
When my dad got back he realized, after the hotel manager contacted him, that I was indeed ill and not just trying to ruin his trip with his new wife…
PS: My dad is a surgeon and his new wife, a nurse.
Thank you for reading and happy international womens rights day to us!