Wait, hold on. I think I feel it.
Oh no, it’s that time of the month again.
I’d like to count my cycle, is it thirty days already?
Am I out of towels?
I feel so bloated.
Hold on, let me tell a back up story.
Just two weeks ago I had this headache.
Right after that I had these mood swings.
Coupled with that I was quite edgy.
Three days ago there was (this) pain in my breasts.
And nothing I did would make (it) go away.
Wait, before you think I’m over reacting,
These(“Dys”) “men” are(“orr”) here(“hea”) again.
The men in red suits. With “nails” for “nails”
A harsh grip on my (lining)
She cried, tears of blood.
That “egg” (cracked), its patience wore out.
This(“Dys”) “men” are(“orr”) here(“hea”) again
The men in red suits, and they clustered down my belly.
I learnt hot water would disperse them.
My neighbor said ice would do the trick.
But this pain, I cannot even lift a finger.
The best I do is writ(h)e, because I can’t handle this much.
I can’t handle this much, I say.
Now, I have to wear dark colored clothes and underwear.
I know I love those clothes, but not for this reason.
Remember the mood swings?
Yeah, right. I use my dark colored clothes for days I have them.
Not because, I don’t want one sister on the side block or the cute guy from the other side of the hall, coming over to tell me: “Hey, you have several ‘amoeba-shaped’ smudge of red behind you”, or, “Humm, there’s a big round red circle behind your trouser.”
Some can be really ruthless. They’d just scream from the back of the class: “Yo, Lola! You are stained.”
Of course, I don’t want to be embarrassed, so, I wear black skirts, dark-blue gowns, black trousers, black this, dark-blue that!
Either I am told ruthlessly or calmly in secret, it doesn’t settle well!
Then, there are some who say: “‘Take care’ of yourself”, when uncle red really appears unashamedly and to my own unsuspecting consciousness.
JUST THINKING ALOUD WISDOM FOR LIFE
Ya think it’s easy?
Having to keep record of how long and when the towels would get filled?
Having to worry ’bout how and where I lie down, so I don’t stain places other than me?
Having to begin another phase of worry when I need to ease myself because I have to get changed, especially in public places?
I go to ease myself and because I’m not feeling all comfortable, I have to change before I head out.
How many times do I have to change, in a day?
Those toiletries cost a lot, people!
So, it’s not easy for me to just ‘take care’ of myself.
There’s also the party.
Oh, the ‘cramp’y party.
I am the party and the venue is my belly.
Mr. ‘pull’ is there dragging my broken egg with him, it discomfort me.
Mrs. ‘wall’s’ contractions makes me wince.
Some invited guest, pull an arch of stunt in my spine and a cannon ball of fluid pain down my belly. Now I walk like a granny with crooked back.
I don’t understand. Do they organise a bouncy disco party?
‘Cause I feel a kick and a pinch and a smash and a rush, then a gush.
Thank God for the cold floor; I can ‘rock’ and ‘roll’.
These(“Dys”) “men” are(“orr”) here(“hea”) again with darts of pain; and I’m the target.
The “egg” (cracked), its patience wore out.
This is what I get for not being ‘ready’.
Co-written by : OMOTOLANI and IREWOLEMI