Could I live without a man kissing them
my imperfect but loved breasts
taken
by some dreadful
disease.
a child unable to
drink its natural
honey for survival
Would I be invisible?
the soft tissue melted
cut and sliced
under a surgeons
knife
would I feel whole
ever again
They make us who we
are
a natural gift from god
Poor girls little girls
with no
bosoms
You grow into a woman
your breasts grow
They age with you
poor women with none
brave women with none
So wear your breasts with pride
they signal that you are fertile
everything is unique
and thank goodness
nothing perfect.
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