Writer and spoken word artist Rowena shares ‘CEX’, the second of her spoken word pieces in a series, this one is about period shaming.
Let’s reminisce to 2007
Tony Blair, thin eyebrows, sweet sixteen heaven.
My boyfriend and I are in town, CEX
His hand resting on my arse for context
Less protective, more possessive
Making sure that no one takes his.
My boyfriend and I are in town, CEX
As always, conversation leads to sex
Next, he says, “I’ve got a free house tonight.”
And I act more excited than I am
On the inside, because I know
That Aunt Flo has turned up
Uninvited, and I curse that I did
Wish on eyelashes and dandelions
When I was thirteen for Aunt Flo to come and go just so
I could use tampons
And be as grown up as my friends.
Aunt Flo who pisses on your chips
On the first day of trips to Madrid.
Aunt Flo who can’t even go by her
Real name, for shame.
My boyfriend and I are in town, CEX
Tonight he thinks we’re gonna have sex,
But I have something to confess
And I don’t know how to say it best.
Deep breath, just be honest:
“Actually Dave, I’m on.” He’ll get the gist.
He didn’t get the gist.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen
Perhaps on your phone or laptop screen
The scenes on YouTube of Alsatian dogs
Who hear a sudden fart and then their head… nods.
Bewildered, bemused, perplexed
I suspect I may have to explain
Myself further, to my disdain.
“On what?”
Not sure how else to express
And when I said
“I’m on my period,” he
Recoiled, snatched his hand from my arse, he
Screwed up his face, twisted his neck away, he
Did an awesome job of making clear to me
What he though of my body, the words he spat,
“Ugh, Rowena, did you have to tell me that?”
My boyfriend and I are in town, CEX
In that moment I realised my worth, just sex.
If I can’t offer that, I’m useless, gross.
It’s plain to see integrity doesn’t come close
To cumming, though with him I never came close.
He doesn’t care for my wit; it’s hollow,
Only if I spit or swallow.
Let’s fast forward,
2019, we’ve been
married three years now.
Of course I jest, we didn’t last
Last I heard from him was dumping him
On MSN beginning with “we need 2 tlk”
Poor kid distraught, but I’d moved on
To a ponytailed male who would go on
To star in Peaky Blinders, you’d find us
Kissing in Kings Heath Park beneath the dark
Sky and I won’t deny it didn’t last
I couldn’t move past him
Screwing his face when I confessed
I needed a piss.
I’m married now to a guy, with a
Young son and done some thinking
About how to inform young blood
About Our Blood and if he ever
Sees a stain he won’t complain
And if he ever hears a mate
Or spouse spout those two words;
“I’m on.”
He doesn’t jar, let alone start
Tilting his head like that god damn dog
With that god damn fart.
