My period is a guest who makes a loud entrance.

For over a week it’s like a jail sentence

Cancelling plans, staying home,

Or frantically packing painkillers wherever I go.

I cannot sleep, or I wake up at dawn,

As she threatens her arrival, she’s on my lawn.

Pain spreads up to my abdomen,

I can’t even turn over, I lie still in my den.

She abuses me physically and emotionally,

Looking at the way I live my life reproachfully.

She makes me want to break down and cry,

Sometimes the pain’s so bad I think I will die.

Her beatings have left me in hospital,

Or on the ground like a shot chital,

“Might you be pregnant?” doctors often question.

But I will never have a baby, just another thing she’ll threaten.

My guest is like an abusive relative,

Who stays with me every month.

And when they say it’s normal or all in my head.

I tell them to ask that again once I’m dead.