A Poem About Periods (Not Punctuation)

I don't remember when I first heard a man say, "Never trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn’t die." It was a long time ago, and it's even possible I read it rather than heard it. Maybe it was a comedian? I'm not sure. Such is the state of memory.

I had forgotten about it until I ran across this poem by a writer named Katherine Tucker. I apologize for the swearing in it, but not for the feeling behind it.

What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die, Right?”
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.

Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tinder
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist

Tell him,
Hey, Asshole:
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.

So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Gods.
Immortal beings.
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
create life.

So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
Weak
Fallible
Mortal.
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.

Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
and dies,
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.

Angry, yes. But a bracing example of turning a premise on its head.