The Joys of Womanhood

Ever since I was 12, there were always certain days that I didn’t feel blessed to be a woman.  I would sit there and stare up at the heavens wishing that I was born a man instead.  I had one of those moments this past week, in the middle of the night, always in the middle of the night, when I wasn’t happy in my own skin.  Why?  Well, nothing would describe it better than this poem I wrote, almost four years ago today, in which I was in the exact same scenario.


Gnawing, grinding
stretching, chewing
me inside out
as I thrash
from side to side
twisting and turning,
I catch my breath,
only to claw
at my nightmare
with eyes wide open,
ready to rip
my intestines,
my ovaries,
to be free
of the pain
as I sink
into my pillow,
and close my eyes
to pray,
but I find
in frustration
I could turn back time
and be a boy instead,
trade my extra X
for a Y.

The turmoils
of womanhood –
yearly heartbreaks
and monthly cramps.
Hiding tears
behind laughter,
we always hope
for better days,
better nights,
so we wouldn’t
be sitting here
to the clock,
writing this poem
at 3 am.

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