Feminism Poetry Trans Issues Writing



On Monday I woke up
In a pool of my own blood
In my boyfriends bed.
My period came early.
I wasn’t prepared.
I cried.

On Tuesday, my womb ached
Like it was being torn apart
By a thousand tiny claws.
I called in sick to work.
“Can’t you suck it up?”
I cried.

On Wednesday, I got angry
Because a man at work
Called me a bitch.
“You on your period or something?”
I was, but fuck that guy.
I cried.

On Thursday, I forgot my bag
And my tampons at home.
I used a fistful of tissues as a pad
Until I could beg a colleague for a spare.
I felt humiliated.
I cried.

On Friday, my period ended.
Or so I thought.
I left home without a tampon
Just to leak through to my jeans.
A coworker quietly pointed it out.
I cried.

On Saturday, I met a man
Who wore a dress
And called himself a woman.
He complained about his ‘period’,
His ‘mood swings’ and ‘stomach cramps’.
I screamed.

– Hazel Appleyard

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