I’m bleeding.
The rivers running down my arms
ebb and flow, shift course,
depending on the year. 

I’ve bled,
since the first man slapped me
across my face,
and told me not to cry.

I’ve bled,
since the first words,
you’re a girl,
crossed my child mind.

I’ve bled,
since the first person
called me a dyke,
even though I had no clue why.

I’ve been bleeding my whole life.
Trying to staunch the loss
with bandages and armor,
tearing up when another scab rips open.

I’m bleeding,
from a lifetime war.
Watching my blood drip,
mixing with others on the floor.

I’m bleeding,
and I can’t stop the angry tears,
when mocked for speaking
against assailants with swords, and words,

I’m bleeding,
and sorry there isn’t much
worth smiling for.
Another wound was torn.

And then he said he voted.
He refused to say for which side.
But instead he smiled,
and told me who he voted for.

He voted for his daughter,
with wounds of her own.
Who is trying to be a doctor,
still fighting closed doors.

He voted for his Uncle.
Who grew up in the world,
where don’t ask, don’t tell,
now holds new meaning to the old.

And he voted for me.
Who has stood bleeding,
So maybe I can have peace,
in a world so filled with hate.

He voted for us,
so we could find peace.
So doors would open,
and voices could be heard.

He voted,
so maybe,
one day,
I don’t have to bleed.