P.M.S (yes this is a period poem)

A Poem by beautifulblade

1.29.15

There are times when all one wants to do
is curl up into a ball and cry.

This is NOT one of those times.

I promise you, I'm not in the mood
to back down, bow down,
offer up my dignity just to
stop some stupid inquiries as to
why I'm slamming s**t around,
throwing trash to the ground,
anger unbound and unleashed
on some unsuspecting bystander
who coughed...
and got hit with a
face full of fury and PMS wrath.

I'm not in the mood
to sit on the couch
and eat chocolate while watching
Grey's Anatomy reruns (though
that might be my agenda tomorrow)
and message all my non-existent
girlfriends about how my uterus
is fighting a war against itself
but the only thing that it's killing is me.

I'm not in a
lie back
watch the stars go by
f**k-it-all and let me die
and cry
kind of mood.

Oh hell no.

I am a warrior,
bleeding for what's supposed to be
five to seven days but that
inevitably turn into
10 to 15 and feels like
three f*****g weeks of
a mood that's been hijacked by something
that was a roller coaster in a previous lifetime
and
being pissed at Mother Nature
cause, thanks, but I already got the message.

I'm not in the mood
to dodge punches,
no,
I'm throwin' my own,
holding grudges,
no crutch to hold me up
cause I used it to fight off
a chocolate craving
that came at me like
mother f*****g
Godzilla.

So ladies,
grab your tampons,
your pads
your menstrual cups
whatever the f**k you want
and hold 'em high.

En garde.