On PMS

Updated: May 14

I stole my mother's white dress

Without her knowing

oops!

Her dress of youth


I stand in the mirror

This is summer

“And yet”-

That’s all he said,


attacked by panic

In my bed

Under my cover

Me, in a dress from my mother


A kiss is a gun

Spit is a bullet

Tyrannical saliva targets

everyone


I’m in the sun

In the mirror

I’m dreaming on a bus

In the mirror

But I only want him.

When will my soldier return?

All these rules cause me to unhinge

No wonder we got sick:


(I want him, I shouldn’t

He does, he doesn’t

Now he can’t, so I do,

but he doesn’t)

Such is love.

I’d die for a chance to study medicine,

die to save lives,

Why do old lives demand our silence?

This interests me more than science.


I could write reams of poems

But I think myself untalented

A humanity graduate

There's thousands of those


I need a guitar and a scream

After that, I'll be every father's dream

But I've turned blue-

An egg yolk changing hue,

boiled too long, exploded


My thoughts are Tik Tok videos

Wanting fame and glory

Even if it exists only

in the palm of our hands


I don't know how my body works, I’m out of sync.

But it knows me all too well.

Take it on a run, try to quell

A mind running thick-


Thicker than my blood. “Do you want to know the secret

Of how to live forever?”,

Smug, smirking mother.


How dare she be so vain

But I stole her dress.

How did she know

I’d go to such pains?


I go mad once a month

No more no less

This is a poetry dress

I’ll take it off now, it's only...


Well, it's only PMS.

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Flayed

Epidermis. Dermis. Cut down a peg. Get off your high horse. You Dermis. She's panicking now. Bloody Dermis. Wait. Hypodermis. Ha. Breathe more. HYPO-Dermis. Fucking Dermis. Nothing. Be gone. Out. Swea