Fuck You Menopause

Dr Lisa Alleva

Fuck you menopause,

and your puberty-like lie.

No promise of youth.


Your hormonal shit

identity crisis with

sticky patched-up skin.


Gone are awkward times

with pimples, social tensions.

Instead? Menopause.


Menopause sweats, drips

with wrinkles, and decay but

I’m “together” now.


Biology says

I’m wise. That I’m ready to

be a Grandmother.


Instead here I am

with angry hot flushes and

a midlife crisis.


I don’t want to be

anything other than me.

Biology sucks.


Fuck you menopause.

I can honestly say that

I want to be male.


Hives cover my skin

at night, I can’t sleep, and yet

I still go to work.


Menopause greets me

with mind fog and falling hair

that leaves me in clumps.


Bloated belly like

a fertility statue

but fecund no more.


I take tablets and

stop worrying about clots

and cancer. It’s good.


But something feels off

like I can’t put my finger

on it. It’s just there.


With no oestrogen

My new synthetic body

feels so compromised.


I’ll stop complaining

when I stop feeling like this.

Until then, fuck you.


I’m still mostly an

Insomniac maniac.

Fuck you menopause.


Low carb, high protein.

None of my pants will do up.

Fuck you menopause.


Invisible me

like I’ve never been before.

Fuck you menopause.


You steal the joy I’ve

only just discovered, so,

Honestly. Fuck you.


Maybe I’m being

overly dramatic, like

bad acting, or worse.


But I don’t think so

Because brains are affected

by their changing soups.


The soups of love, of

addiction, of babies born,

of fear, and of joy.


Fuck you menopause.

My soup is tasteless, and it’s

turning tepid fast.