Bloody well right
So there I sat, unsatisfied in my lust for verse of a completely wrong nature, feeling like I'd just bought a bitch dinner and then found her hoo-hoo sealed over with pink papier mache. (Ooooh, if the wimmyn from MP happen to see that, it's sure to raise some blood pressure, don'tcha think?) There is only one way to deal constructively with that kind of disappointment, those raised and dashed hopes: DIY.
Henceforth, I will periodically feature my own menstrual poetry here. I mean poetry inspired by menstruation, and not verse written on the wall with...well, you get the idea.
Here are my first ovulary offerings.
It's that time again:
Sugar, cramps, and cotton plugs;
Butcher knife in hand.
I'm a week early!
Damned if I didn't wreck my
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
With a side of goddammit;
Cramps? They piss me off.