Self-hatred is felt by a young girl who has recently come of age
Upon the embittering realization she has become the woman she despised.
When reaching up to clutch her glorious heart in a victorious display
She instead feels the protrusion of her small budding breast fat.

No longer a child, she decides to be proactive,
Wrapping a cloth tight around her breasts
As an aversion to becoming an object of man's pleasure- the miserable fate of her mother, and her mother's mother, and any mother for that matter.
By catching the destined disease of inflated breasts early, hope was instilled.
She could revert Mother Nature. She could remain strong.

However, still enduring the vicious fight against her sprouting breasts, she soon encounters a new foe- hair.
A hairy creature had latched on beneath her belly, and inched towards the crevices of her thighs,
And despite her sharp jabs with her calcium-enriched fingernails,
her attempts to remove the growing monster were unsuccessful.
It created the semblance of a gruesome body part- its hair glued to her skin like the very hair follicles on her head.
She noticed hair in other places too, hair where it did not belong- taking root in her underarms, and growing thick and prominent.

Soon afterwards, she encountered the epitome of her womanly plight-
stains of blood had pooled when she removed her undergarments before bathing time.
She cried in disdain and submerged her frail body in bubbles,
Succumbing to the far-reaching clouds of a soft scarlet, which stemmed from underneath her
and she acknowledged the suffering that had forcibly removed her door.
She had come to the realization she must be dying- bleeding from such strange a place
So she dries and dresses herself, filling her underwear with toilet paper to suppress the flow of blood-
In the hopes that she can keep her dying state merely a secret.

Painstakingly she lies down on that bathroom floor, she gathers her legs and her thoughts, and for once she cries- and it was okay.
They need not know. They will never know.