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Don't get me wrong,
I l o v e b r e a s t s.
It's my own
that I loathe.
On me,
they're nothing but
trouble and
discomfort and
the appendages of
what I am not.
On her,
they finish the
silhouette,
create pillows
for my head,
and personally,
remind me of the
other limbs and
bones and
flesh I have to
look forward to.
Every morning,
To bind or not to bind?
That is the question.
I am torn between my
physical and mental
health.
I've been
petrified in the
mud filled ditch
that this body
fell into,
the moment she
came out of
another her;
and there's a
perpetual storm.
To be free or
not to be?
T h a t is the question.





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