Poetry

War.

Why am I considered frail and fragile when I'm actually fighting within?
Constantly conflicting with myself, metaphorically and sometimes literally,
And with no one to call an ally,
I dispute, striving to win.

I worry not about the outcome,
Taking the hardest route as always,
Bleeding myself not by choice,
And with not much of an outward moan or notice,
Coping with the most troublesome.

This war that I wage tires me,
Yet I go on about it relentlessly,
Sometimes ending in tears,
Others going about almost for years,
But, none of this does the world see.

This battle inside me is never out for debate,
Mostly because of ignorance, or disgust,
Why, oh why, do I have to suffer this plight?
Why do I have to feel like I have no might?
Every time, every month, when I menstruate?