the blood in between my legs: part 3

i can feel it's warmth
wetness pools under layers of cloth and fabric
shame fills me, unable to remedy the issue at hand
or rather, at womb
nature working its course, working against me
all i can do is sit and hope
everyone else on the bus blissfully unaware
of my inner turmoil, of my bodily torment

wait and hope, stay still and pray
a mantra i repeat, a wish i cry out to the heavens
oh why me? oh why now?
the ache grows steadily, cramping inbound
no medicines at hand
no hygiene products to use
just i, stuck on a bus

a batman tshirt and ratty jeans
the uniform of which i don for comfort
of which now i feel caged in
how much longer until it seeps through?
until the evidence makes itself known on torn seating?
should i say something? do i fret?
tears are no issue when shame and fear run rampant
i could only shove tissues in to cover the stench
blood, after all, has a familiar odor

in another life, i would not have this problem
there is not enough testosterone in me
to stop the process of the female sort
the process that prepares one with a vagina
for the birth of another
for me, a birth that will never come
that i never wish to ask for
yet my body persists
and i ache, oh how i ache!

how could one ever be comfortable
in such a body
i know that i am not, will never not
i grieve that fact, i grieve for the woman who was
and the man that isn't
he is yet to fully exist
stuck in a perpetual state of not yet
but someday soon

today is not that day