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Prose for My Period

After a 3 year continuous stretch of either being pregnant and/or nursing a baby, I finally got my first period. Yay. I am now reminded that I hate my period, and that it in return must hate me. This hate-hate relationship has inspired me to pen a written ode to Nature’s agent of terror. Ladies (as I’m sure no gentlemen will have gotten passed the title and will not be reading this piece…ever), I present to you in haiku, limerick, sonnet and couplet style:

My Period Hates Me and I Hate Her


I should have known by the appearance of Shelton

My temple pimple, that my period was on its way.

Shelton was accompanied by an awkward fellow

Whom we shall call Harry – a juicy, opaque white head

Perched lazily on my chin.


The first pang hit me in my gut without warning


I dropped to my knees in breathless surprise.

I crawled to the bathroom to suss out the source of my anguish.

It was my period. My bloody, bloody Period.

That slhore.

Over the course of the next two days

Blood soaks through my maxi pad

And runs down my leg like an angry Parisian mob

Cloaked in crimson cloth and storming the Bastille.

I was powerless against the flow.

It ebbed and rolled, ruining sofas and bed sheets for the next 3 days.

Everyone can smell it, I know they can!

I don’t want to do back flips and cartwheels like those

Stupid teenaged girls on those Kotex commercials.

I don’t want to go to the club and have fun now that my arch enemy has returned

Just wake me when she’s gone.

I hate my Period, and she hates me.

And like the Devil she is, when she leaves

She will return 7 times stronger in the form of


Why, Heavenly Mother, Why??