Just another period poem,
Fighting the odds stained in blood
Detesting men with pen sword
building a throne of emotions
And ruling in the side of hormones

I won that war,
Without a single pickle ruined
Without a single stain on your sofa set
Without a single god offended

I did it alright
How it was supposed to be
I changed the blood carrier on time
I locked myself in the room alone
Without the gods, pickle and you

I left your perfect world
Where I was an impure bleeding ***** and
not so perfect human being, if any
I locked myself in the room
Without the gods, pickle and you

Then what I did I do you ask?
If it interests you so much then know
I put on my suit, business suit
Held my head high with the perfect eyeliner wing I did not cry to wear white
I wore grey with perfect shade of black
And entered the world
where I am your
boss that you ***** about
project partner you wish was not
colleague that you hate
friend whom you love but hates her boyfriend
cousin whom you try avoid at every family wedding

I am bleeding now
But you won’t know that
Because I won’t let you know that
I will be imperfect at work, emotions and love
But I will turn it around this time

I will win the war
the one I want to

I will do it alright
How I want to