Dear Mr Finley,
. . . .
I want to thank you for the work and effort you've put into your genuinely wonderful and extensive museum. I'm so glad to see that someone is finally breaking the taboo that lies over the menstruation of women. And since one of us wasn't prepared to do it, I am equally happy to see a unbiased, dedicated man rise to create something out of a rather amazing aspect of womanhood that is so largely left unmentioned.
My name is ****, and I'm thirteen years old. I live in Sydney. Please don't look past what I have to say because of my age. Despite the fact that I am nowhere near to seasoned when it comes to menstruation, I have experienced its knocks and take great comfort in your website's presence. It certainly strikes a chord in me.
It seems, sadly, that we women have resigned ourselves to such a silence out of practice, and so there is something incomparably euphoric about the way you've broken the mold like this. I know many women are opposed to such a thing, seeing it as vulgar and unnecessary, and I hate to see their silences like that, to allow the essence of their femininity just fade away without a word.
Your website never ceases to fascinate me, despite the risk of being branded a "pervert" by my friends. Though there are others who see the empowerment in it, myself included.
Would it be alright if I could submit a poem to your site?
Of course, rejection would not bother me, but I would really like to see myself as a part of your movement.
Though could you please put anything that is added to your website under anonymous? Thank you.
Daughters of Eve
It seems that in this world forged
So common is misconception
That it has grown and bent with the hills
Of time's discrepancies
That are so to be clambered forth to our
I am a daughter of Eve.
I am the forbidden child
I must bear Her age-old curse
This poisoned cradle of mine
This clandestine key to my fruition
That weeps at the turn of time
She is the white to His black
Unknown and unexpected until
In Creation's faultless garden
The unimaginative muscular build became
So countered by the feminine flow
When God set a partner to the man
Oh white to His black when
She was the Mother of Life
Whose eyes so encompassed its own intangibilities;
She saw things
Passed on her blood-deep intuition
As Her mind's sights so congregated and conceived
With passage of time
When she saw more beauties than Eden
Man has swallowed eons
Of Her daughters
From the Living One, white,
As in the eyes of his fathers
Are her heresies and dark ink-scored mistakes
Admonishing her purity
Of a time when she took her paradise into her mouth
A treachery in her bones
A paean to her lips
A garden of perfection so revoked in her eyes
All so sculpted from Adam
And her brash refusal to be a derivative of He
With her own emancipation
She took the fruit within her
Gentle lips and convinced by He,
Was left to weep at her weakness
Now her legacy remains
Must an asp be the guise given to Her free will?
Must Her disconnection from such norms, these vaunts of men
Be a shunned, shamed thing?
And must the blood that I shed be but a tacit irritation
An unspoken discomfiture
To be quietly gathered by a whisper in brightly coloured packaging?
I refuse to be shamed by my curse
I see the way I weep
Unashamedly at the turn of time
And I am proud to bear it
When the tides come for my rite
And the moon soars on silvery wings
The earth shudders
And I hear its beat
For I am attuned to its course
And cry tears for it
For Her daughters must live out her curse
Spill their blood beset by ritual
Wordlessly for Her
For Her run to freedom
To beat against her furrowed ground
To suck the evil from the asp
To know She who ran before them
To dance in flow under the moon
I am glad
I run the path to fruition
Archaic and wrought by Her
The time-aged battle sparked by flying freedom
To hold close Her memories in reverence of
For I am a daughter of Eve.
I shall desist with my feminist ranting now. Once again, thank you for your efforts and perseverance.