Every month, when I would have my four days of torture, I would call him on the first day and cry.
I would crib my heart out and curse every god **** cell that cramped.
Even though we were miles apart, his voice would pacify the pain, his words would calm me down and all I ever felt was love.
He was the cure to my Menstrual strain.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Every month, when I would have my four days of torture, I would call him on the first day and cry.
I would crib my heart out and curse every god **** cell that cramped.
Even though we were miles apart, his voice would pacify the pain, his words would calm me down and all I ever felt was love.
He was the cure to my Menstrual strain.
Request permission to use this poem