The Monthly Curse!!!

Being a woman surely sucks at least once a month!!

The Monthly Curse

There is a quiet violence
in being a woman on days like this—
when my body turns against me
with a clenched fist
and a ticking clock.

My womb pulls itself inward,
angry, ancient, demanding tribute,
as if pain were a rite
I never agreed to
but must honor anyway.

I bleed and still I’m expected
to smile, to show up,
to fold myself neatly into chairs
and conversations,
to act surprised that I’m not fine.

They call it natural.
They call it normal.
They call it a miracle factory—
as if that excuses the ache
that crawls up my spine
and nests behind my eyes.

There is no medal for this endurance,
no pause button for the world,
just heat, pressure,
and the slow understanding
that strength is sometimes
just surviving your own skin.

So forgive me if I curse the moon,
the biology, the bargain I didn’t sign.
This isn’t weakness—
it’s proof that I carry storms
inside me
and still remain standing.