It has to be, they say
It’s that time of the month,
Throwing harsh words and curse words
Her way, all day, everyday
She says nothing, just lets tears fall
And a storm rages on in her head
She thought he’d understand at least
He doesn’t, and she wishes she were dead
Unsolicited advice comes her way:
“Have children, before it’s too late.”
“Have children, doesn’t matter if you’re not into it.”
“If you don’t want them, God curse your fate.”
She feels like a package
That everyone’s dying to unwrap
She feels suffocated
Every harsh word is like a slap
They don’t let her bleed in peace
The color of blood it repels them, you see
She’s just a walking uterus
Meant to carry kids, isn’t that how it was supposed to be?
She’s not a woman if she doesn’t want kids
She’s not normal if she wants to be
She’s shallow if she wants to be happy
She sits in the corner, with the color of blood for company
And they shake their heads and click tongues
She’s failed the generation once more
He could have done better, they think
And for once, she couldn’t agree more.
