I am sick of this regularity,
This cycle and its “special” time of month.
It rolls around every 28 days just in case I was actually enjoying life.
I am fed up with the bloodstains on my favourite panties,
The napkins that aren’t invited to dinner,
The little cotton messes on a string.
Who came up with tampons anyway?
How did the baby alligator resolved on eating me from the inside get in?
Why do I turn on my own family
And find vehicular manslaughter a justifiable crime?
My immune system goes for crap.
It is impossible to feel clean as clots work their way out.
It is impossible to feel sexy in my bloated jeans.
I have lost the will to pick up the mascara.
It feels like it will never end.
And when it finally, slowly peters to a finish,
There might be hope
If I didn’t know it would be back.
