Once you bleed, then you can speak to me. Once you feel your body revolting against itself, then you can speak to me. Once you understand how to act like a man, then you can speak to me. I want nothing from a limp boy, a dick boy, who has never felt five days of hell while still smiling, still expecting to be alive, even when it feels like you’re dying, constantly dying. Dying differently each time. Damn, I know it’s hard to get out of bed, but just swallow a Midol. Once you feel grateful for still living as if you’re not being ripped from the inside, then you can speak to me. The red clawing out from within you. The blood singing from within you. Please help me, God, because I can’t even—oh honey, I said just swallow a Midol. If you don’t have pussy power, I do not want to hear how you think I should dress or how I should behave. Thoughts or laws or suggestions about my body should not escape from your limp dick lips. I won’t hear it. I do not need your words because my mama taught me only to look for something worth it, not something worth-less. She told me, Baby, find you a man, but still have your own bank account. Hold what’s ours, stash it within our bras like dollar bills on a Friday night at the club downtown. Yes. Power pussy to all the women who march the streets. Warriors of Earth and Mother Nature. Of burning fire and ice. Run red, red wild, run red. Like Mayhem’s anthem. Flow down—but no—flow up, and show all these limp boys, these dick boys, how women run wild, red wild, run red with the power pussy power. Bleed red.
Christine Teopaco is a Filipino-American writer born and raised in Southern California with a guilty pleasure of 2 A.M. ramen cravings. She graduated with a double degree in English and Creative Writing from the University of Arizona. Her stories and poetry revolve around culture, identity, feminism, and the self. With her words, she hopes to empower and inspire her readers to find comfort that they are not alone.