Receive email updates from Better After 50.
A password will be e-mailed to you.

 

O Lady Estrogen, why have you forsaken me?

When you left you swiped my patience and my personality

not to mention your theft of my most private femininity

(Forget it, people – we’re not even going there.)

And hey – what spell, cast you, upon the placement of my hair?

It’s on my chin, above my smile, but on my crown? It ain’t there,

for where once it used to bee-hive, your curse has struck it bare

(Ok so I exaggerate – but only by a nip.)

And why did you take with you, the svelte line along my hip?

You find it funny that its long clean line’s in free-fall, sure to slip

and touch the tops of newborn thunder-thighs? Heifer, get a grip

(Your sense of humor’s sorely lacking – your sense of irony hits me deep.)

And just what the hell have you done now with my ability to sleep?

I toss and turn in drenching sweat, begin anew with counting sheep

who do no more than drive me mad with manic strains of bleep bleep bleep

(This is so unfair – could you not, like, have left my nighttime gig uncut?)

And why would it be called upon for you to drain my butt?

You took the fat from two great globes just to glob it to my gut

and so now I merely wobble, where once I proudly strut

(Put your listening ears on, you thieving cow – my last quatrain’s ahead.)

And for all the hell you ever gave me – the bloat, the cramps, the pounding head,

did you ever hear me once to say I’d trade it all, and wish, instead

to wake one day and find Annie gone – that all my female traits had fled

and left me only to resemble some fat insomniac named Fred?

Estrogen. I never ever knew ye.

Don’t miss out on any BA50 stories!
Click here to subscribe.

Requiem For A Dying Hormone was last modified: by

Join the Conversation

comments