The Flower of Womanhood

I am well and truly over
This annoying, messy phase
Where I daren’t wear pale fabrics
And I shower thrice a day

All protective products pointless
As it oozes t’ward my feet
I awake to pools of gruesome
Craving sleep without red sheets

When my skin feels slick and shiny
With more oil than fries a bird
I anticipate resignedly
Soon the flag will be unfurled

I shall suffer through the heatwave
Of my ovaries in bloom
As they fire off a salvo
Twinges presaging the gloom

Days of darkness, swathed in layers
Extra undies in my bag
At each trickling sensation
Quick! Hi-tail it to the lav’

To expunge in corporate bathroom
All the evidence of gore
I ignore my bio function
Still, my womb knows what it’s for

With the monthly mad reminder
That just living hurts like hell
As my tender flesh needs kinder
Treatment than it gets; oh well.

From the first time I encountered
This botanical event
In my leotard and dance tights
Feeling put upon and spent

To the day I see my organs
Ripped hysterically from me
Doctor’s orders and direction
Leaving nothing more to see

I must buy, gift-wrapped in plastic
Wads of cotton, scented ‘pure’
Knowing no tidy blue fluids spilled
From beakers will ensure

Any comfort, fresh or dryness
As I waddle through the day
Too resentful, bloody, mindless
Forcing cervix to obey

Hope another piece of plastic
In my battered, spattered jeans
May exceed historic precedent
Protecting seat and seams

But the flower swells within me
And it cannot be denied
I’m a woman, well and truly
Scrubbing gussets ’til I die

Advertisements