Periods are inconvenient.
They don’t wait until the end,
Like their punctuational namefellow friend.
They come right in the middle of graduations and funerals
They come right before three day weekends
And vacations with the hubby.
Mine tend to come while we’re getting it on
(haha, get it?)
Periods are messy.
They end up on bed sheets and sundresses;
They run down the inside of the your leg
And end up in puddles on bathroom floors.
They ruin your favorite pair of lace panties
(gross and expensive)
Periods are confusing.
For some, they are relief
After a month of wild and more oft than not drunk mishaps
(We’ve all been there.)
But they bleed like broken hearts,
When you get that aching, empty feeling
Of something you don’t yet have.
Periods are a reminder that our body has succeeded and failed
(at the exact same time)
At all the things it was meant to do,
Like most of us our meant to do.
Periods are intuitive.
They share great red tears with women
Who are filled with longing and heavy with blood.
They beat angrily on their walls
While the women that own them beat with their fists.
They refuse to be silent or hidden,
(much like their foremothers)
Periods remind us we are alive,
We are women,
And that we must bleed for life to keep going on and on.
Periods remind us, Women are warriors.