ovulation doesn’t ask.
it just snitches.
it snitches out the hoe, the one who wanted to flirt but said no, the one who slid into DMs when no one was watching.
it snitches out the cry baby, the one clutching tissues at 3am because a song sounded sad, or a text didn’t come back fast enough.
it snitches out miss perfect, the one who smiles too hard at work, who eats salad when everyone else is having pizza, who pretends she’s fine.
and then… the heat. the hot flashes that make you sweat like you’re standing too close to the sun.
the skin, clear and glassy, glowing like a filter you didn’t earn… or that one rogue pimple, red and angry, screaming at you in the mirror.
ovulation is a tattletale.
it tells your body’s secrets before you’re ready.
it doesn’t care about dignity or Instagram filters or bedtime routines.
it just shows up, messy and loud and unapologetic, and says:
“this is you. all of you. take it or leave it."
