“Red Petals”

She carries the moon inside her,

a tide that ebbs and flows—

red rivers that remind her

of cycles only she knows.

Pain hums beneath her ribs,

yet she walks, she works, she gives;

her body writes an ancient song

of endings, and how life begins.

The world may call it weakness,

but in her blood is proof—

of courage stitched in silence,

of resilience wrapped in truth.

So every month she rises,

through cramps, through tears, through flame—

for women with their periods

are warriors without name.