Pms Poem by Amouta Stardancer

Spilt coffee on my t-shirt,
Had to change,
Though the new one,
Didn’t help the burn.
My hair rebelled to day,
After lulling me into false security,
It stuck up for it’s right,
To behave hideously.
I found a blood stain in my underpants,
Entirely unexpected,
And I was Devoid of supplies,
to deal with the menstrational objection.
“At least, ” I said, “I’m not pregnant.”
Stayed up half the night,
Working on something,
I promptly forgot,
To bring in.
Going home I almost died,
And when I got there,
I cried,
And I just couldn’t manage to move.
I could say,
“It’s just another day.”
And something along that line,
That even the worst pass us by,
But in the moment I write,
I don’t think you can quite,
Comprehend,
The hell it has been.
So I’ll simply suffice,
That it’s been the worst day of my life,
And the worst of it won’t set for a while.
But I’m just a spinster,
With no one to miss her,
So move on with not a whisper of air,
In instant addressance,
Of the malice and menace,
Of the great deal of this day’s affairs.
They’re of no importance,
Just of misery, it’s endurance,
And a lonely heart,
You’ll never know.