crass, awful conversation

A con­ver­sa­tion with a friend, who in­sist­ed on re­main­ing anony­mous. Be­cause it’s a crass, aw­ful con­ver­sa­tion.

Cw: pe­ri­ods, blood, cis­nor­ma­tive lan­guage
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Me:
Oh yeah, you sug­gest­ed some­thing home­o­path­ic for my wonky pe­ri­ods

Friend:
Holis­tic.

Me:
Oh sor­ry.

Friend:
No, I don’t care just be mind­ful cause if you say home­o­path­ic to a doc­tor their eyes will cross. Home­o­path­ic is mak­ing po­tions shit, some ‘cure your snake bite with the ven­om of the snake that bit you’ shit.

Me:
Are you say­ing I should fill a diva cup with the pe­ri­od blood of a younger, more nu­bile woman and shove it up in there?

Friend:
Pret­ty sure you have to drink it.

Me:
.  .  .  .
 
 

—mel­ony ppenosyne

Flom­mist Mel­ony Ppenosyne is a writer and weird artist type. In the last year alone, she’s trav­eled to Vir­ginia as a com­pet­ing poet, co-writ­ten a play on men­tal ill­ness that is present­ly be­ing pro­duced, and craft­ed a pub­lished es­say check­ing the priv­i­lege and scope of art gal­leries. Copy­right © 2017 Mel­ony Ppenosyne.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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