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.