Okay, I know it was as corney as a laughy taffy joke, but I didn’t want my gross post to be the last thing I put on my blog, so deal with it.
You just couldn’t help yourself? Fine, but don’t whine and cry and call me nasty or anything like that. I warned you.
I’m a woman. As a woman I have a monthly subscription to Satan’s river. Through the miracle of modern science and engineering, we women have a selective array of products to facilitate or rather hide the rivers’ flow when it comes.
Okay, last chance guys. Believe me, you don’t want to read more.
One of these ingenious products is a plug, otherwise known as a tampon.
Now, I’ve been off my period for a week or so, but several days ago I became disturbed by a rather offensive odor which seemed to be coming from my lady parts. I did what I could, frequent showers, etc, but the odor persisted and seemed to be getting worse.
I assumed I was dying of some horrible and humiliating disease or something, and began preparing my last will and testament, when I thought “maybe it’s a yeast infection”, so I put some ointment on my finger and it began its trek into the depths of my…well, me.
Suddenly I felt something that didn’t feel like me, and I realized “ahhhhh!!! it’s a tampon! Gross! Gross! Gross! Etc.” for about 10 minutes as I fished the disgusting thing out. It was horrible. Traumatizing. Nasty.
So I looked it up and apparently it happens a lot. Women see their doctor and stuff to have it taken out, so I didn’t feel like as much of a sicko. So that’s it. Told you it was gross.
I’m smelling better now, and it can actually be dangerous to leave a tampon in, so I guess I’m fortunate in that regard that it wasn’t life threatening.
In the future, I’m going to have to make tally marks for tampon insertion and retrieval or something, because this was one experience I don’t want a repeat of.
There simply is a time and place
To show the sides of your writer’s face.
I tend to post it all too quick
From beautiful to really sick
But sometimes I need a gentle remind
That some of it should be held behind
The doors that only a few people see
Some might be better only for me.
That doesn’t mean I’m being fake
There’s only so much the world can take.
So I will try to keep a lid
On the writings that are better hid
Behind the public social wall
The view available to all.
Self-censorship is something I can do
Whether the piece is fake or true.
I’ll have a secret writing mind
And leave the controversy behind.
I promise that I really tried
To take my readers on a ride.
To keep them spellbound with suspense
To write in conflict and keep it tense.
I tried to write some sad stuff too
Make them believe it could be true.
Tried to write some witty verse
But I must be under some sort of curse
Because each time I start to write,
The words refuse to come into site.
I’m left staring at a blank page
More annoyed than full of rage.
I simply want to write a bit.
This feeling makes me want to quit.
So instead of trying to get it done.
I’ll write a poem just for fun.
So there! You mental blocking jerk!
Writing shouldn’t be so much work.
You stopped my world.
In a crowded room, there was only you,
And we both knew it.
At least I fantasize that you knew too.
Life was life.
I had a boyfriend and told you he might answer the phone, but I still gave you my number, because I knew it was you.
Not sure what would have happened if you called, but I’ve always wondered what life would have been.
I’ll forgive you because of tonight.
We are meant to be together.
I knew it then.
I’ve never forgotten it.
Never forgotten you.
Did that really happen?
Are you real?
The touch of your skin,
The taste of your lips,
Your mouth on my breast,
Was that real?
It can’t be.
People don’t make out with strangers.
People don’t mysteriously connect on the side of the road, after a brief meeting which might have been a dream 12 or 13 years ago.
People don’t have soul mates, or soul-friends-with-benefits, or soul strangers.
There’s no such thing as meant to be.
But I’ll tell you this,
Will never leave me.
Just like those few minutes so many years ago.
Whether that was the same you,
Or merely the you of that moment.
Whether then or tonight really even happened,
Or they were drug induced dreams.
You, are the one I’ve been hoping to find.
Thank you for being real.