That Time Of The Month

That time of the month,

When you're body writhes in pain and you just want to be blunt,

Don't touch, don't talk and don't expect the moon,

We'll be back to our normal selves soon,

But for the next five days,

Just allow us to be in our haze,

Everything hurts,

There's a volcano in our tummies, so excuse us if we're curt,

You can throw chocolates our way,

And run away,

We'd appreciate the sweet treats,

And munch on them as our aching bodies squeak,

That time of the month,

That wretched time of the month,

Where tornadoes, typhoons and storms,

Feel far better than the swarm,

Like attack,

That makes us feel like useless sacks.