Waxing gibbous

Woke up to a tender stomach and tender breasts; I am a basket of bruised fruits. I often skip my period, but occassionally I go through with it, just to see that the cycle is still happening. Being a woman is a strange and delicate thing. Sometimes I feel as if there is an entire ocean inside of me, ebbing and swelling, reshaping my body over time. At 2:30 in the afternoon, I stretched out on the couch for a nap and stayed there until 6pm. I woke intermittently in the warm room but, finding myself unable to move, I slipped back into strange and steady dreams that seemed more real than any Wednesday spent tethered to my desk. Still, the blood hasn't come. I feasted on carbs to try to induce it—I suspect I may be exercising too much, my body craves sugars and fats. I wish I had skipped the brown placebos and moved straight into the next pack of pills. I'd rather remain lean and constant, carefree as a boy. And while I'm tempted to eschew the life-bearing potential of my womb, I can't help but hear its ticking clock.