Fullstop
It's that terrible time of the month again; the one where I have to grab my midriff intermittently and cry out to whoever cares to listen. The one where I abandoned my bed and lay exhausted on a dusty haggard mattress with no covers, hoping that it is not dripping blood in the morning and still expecting that it is. Today is a little different. It's my sister's birthday and I should be elated, but a dark cloud hangs over my head and bitterness rises like bile from my stomach; burning my tongue as it pleases. Sleep eludes me. Hours after the rest of the world has retired, I toss and turn and wait for dawn. I have changed my underwear twice tonight. I have even reinforced the blood cloth between my thighs with pads of tissue, but the thick fluid still finds a way out to the world like the truth seeking light and a scorned woman in search of justice. It slithers out of my body deliberately until it has penetrated every item of clothing I have worn and it has drawn yet