• Sena Chang

Her Bloody Sunrise

Updated: Dec 10, 2020

i.

dark, cold, and damp

she sits curled in her precious cave,

glistening with stalagmites of red blood.


the city roars symphonies

of honks and screeches

yet she exists in a dark universe

so close, yet so distant


small, and nothing more than a tiny beating heart,

she patiently waits in her mother’s uterus,

lungs awaiting their first breath.


ii.

thirteen. thirteen candles wrap the room

in a warm glowy light

sparking what is a chain of memories

spanning thirteen years outside her cave.


thirteen. the wax dripping off thirteen candles stains my cake

as blood stained on the pale linen of my pants that day.

that day, a sun of blood rose from a sea of white,

as taunts of

Weirdo.”

Freak.”

stained my conscience beyond repair, for

the same paint that painted the walls of my first home— their first home—

has become a subject of ridicule.


iii.

the daggers they threw at me at 13 harm me no more

for it is the same blood

that has bathed him in his mother’s womb;

that created a life out of nothing.

it is the same blood

that will bathe his daughters

it is also the same blood

that will shame his daughters


no longer do i fear the rising red sunrise that appears every moon;

instead, i greet it, embracing all it means

to be female.

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