“For Every Kinda Woman- When Nothing is Enough”
Excuse my appearance, I’m usually well put together. Dressed well, smile painted on just right so you’ll never notice the cracks in between which is routinely followed by the well rehearsed line, “I’m doing well. Thanks for asking.” Yeah, right now it’s happening again. Every month for a week I’m reminded that I am a woman. This super woman’s cape gets ripped down and she reverts to a ball of sporadic emotion, a walking time bomb if you must.
Every month for a week my body kicks into overdrive to give me the bittersweet sample of what pregnancy might feel like. There’s this pain that happens in my lower abdomen. My intestines become that old wash cloth that’s tightly wrung from left to right- right to left and one more time just to be sure. A kryptonite that throws me into full submission; fetal position rocking back and forth in complete agony wishing it would stop. My lower back starts to ache, tired isn’t just tired it’s fucking fatigue, I’M EXHAUSTED ALL THE TIME! I stand up wanting to sit down, sit down wanting to stand up, the whole shit becomes too much to where I throw in the towel and just lay down.
During this time I’m a wreck- borderline schizophrenic. Creating multiple personalities screaming out I hate you leave me alone, I love you just hold me, I’m in the mood touch me, I miss you come see me…DAMMIT this whole shit is twisted; wishing that for once I’ll miss it, miss this whole shit called my period!
For three weeks every month I’m what everyone else wants me to be; cool, calm, and collected. My tone stays at the perfect decibel never too high never too low cause heaven forbid I question anything. How dare I show any signs of disapproval. For 1,2,3 weeks every month I’m pleasant, smoothing it all over, making sure I’m right with everyone, having conversations I actually don’t care about, keeping things politically correct.
But this week during these seven days there’s a physiological embargo taken place within me. ISIS itself has taken over, I’m unapologetically off the wall and don’t you dare try to shame me, don’t you dare try to take it away!
For 21 days out of 30 this puppet dances and regurgitates what’s forced fed to make you feel comfortable.
Out of those 30 days, I get 7 days to remind me that I am human,
I am a woman.
I am sensitive, I cry, I love, I hate, I laugh, I am angered.
I am a woman, accept my woman…