“A Menopausal Ode to a Yorkshire Lass Who’s Had Enough of This Bloody Nonsense”

Poetry and Artwork by Missy Moo

There was a time, when I were young, Me tits were high, me belly sprung, Me skin were tight, me arse were round, And now the bloody lot’s gone southbound.

I used to wake with rosy cheeks, Now I haven’t slept for fourteen weeks. I’m sweating buckets, then I’m cold, Whoever said this happens when you’re old?

Me tits were once a lovely pair, Now one’s down here, t’other’s over there. I took me bra off late last night, And nearly knocked the bloody dog out of sight.

Me belly’s grown a little shelf, I barely recognise meself. I’ve eaten salads, walked up t’hill, But bloody hell, I’m growing still.

And what’s this whisker on me chin? A great big bastard, thick as sin. I plucked it out on Tuesday night, By Wednesday morning, it were back for a fight.

Me knees now crack, me hips complain, Me shoulders ache when there’s a drop of rain. I bend to pick me knickers off t’floor, And wonder what I came down here for.

I walk in t’kitchen, stand and stare, I’ve not a clue why I’m stood there. I’ve lost me keys, me phone, me brew, And half the bloody words I knew.

I’m freezing cold, then boiling hot, Me body’s thermostat’s gone to pot. I throw the duvet on t’floor, Then five minutes later, I’m wanting more.

And don’t get me started on me mood, I’m lovely, till somebody chews their food. One minute laughing, next minute tears, Then threatening divorce after twenty-odd years.

I’m crying at adverts, raging at news, And can’t decide which knickers to choose. Some days I feel like a right old wreck, With sweat running down the back of me neck.

But listen here, and listen well, This body’s dragged me through some hell. It’s loved and laughed and carried pain, And got me up to try again.

These wrinkles tell of years gone by, Of belly laughs and times I’ve cried. These stretch marks aren’t a bloody disgrace, They’re little reminders I’ve earned me place.

So bugger the diets, the lotions, the creams, The miracle cures and impossible dreams. I’ll wear what I want, I’ll eat me cake, And give not a toss for goodness’ sake.

I’m Yorkshire born, I’m tough as old boots, With silver hairs and stubborn roots. I’ve weathered storms and come through rain, And I’ll not be made to feel ashamed.

So raise your brew, you fabulous cow, You’ve earned your place, you’ve earned it now. Your body’s changing, that much is true, But there’s still a bloody lot of life in you.

And if someone says, “You’ve let yourself go,” Just smile and tell the daft sod, “No. I’ve let meself LIVE, and that’s the trick, Now pass me me Yorkshire Tea, you prick.”

Because I’m not past it, I’m not done, I’m still a daft and fabulous one. With saggy tits and a belly that swings, I’m a bloody Yorkshire queen, and I’ll do as I bloody well please!

Love from Missy Moo x