throw poetry collective - the first lie

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each month i come in
purifying myself in pleasurable sin
hoping that after the last time
my womb will still bleed words that rhyme
because my silence would tell you
that something bigger's brewing
that i'm hewing and i'm sewing and i'm suing
my muses for damages and pride
for taking me for a ride, no, a glide
then a slide, slipping in and out
as we spun around on a roundabout
the score cards waving up and down
to make the riders smile or frown

it was against my will, you see
though i never said "no", just a soft "maybe"
as i heard the staged rage leave the page
and felt the smug words, some quite sage
seep across the crowded floor
now here i am, i'm back for more