Funbags, norks and jugs and boobies;

the Mitchell brothers strapped on chest

These are some ways to describe the double feature of my breasts

My feelings about the ‘girls’ is a very complex and oft-changing feature

Sometimes I like them, but more often, wish I was a less curvy creature

Then I would not need at least three sports bras in order to exercise

(With demons of past mixed PE lessons, I would love to exorcise)

And I could go running anywhere without a dozen or so male stares

Fixed on my torso, and of which I pretend that I am unaware

And it seems to have escaped the majority, totally and entirely

That I did not choose them, I did not want them, I did not grow them deliberately

Instead they are an accident, a twist of nature, a quirk of fate

Believe me, if I’d had the choice, I’d have gone for some with far less weight

Oh, I sometimes wish that I could go through life with some kind of disguise

And hide my FF cups from all the impudent, incautious eyes

Lest I ever, EVER, be allowed to forget that they exist

Not a chance – it seems that they are never, ever, EVER missed

And on the odd occasion, they will be groped as well – what joy!

By some grubby fingers of an uninvited man or boy.

Like school, when some boys grabbed at them with an action violent

As if they were not part of me, but part of their entitlement

‘She’s the one with the massive tits’ one or two boyfriends would boast and brag

To other boys, I was a trophy, or worse, my chest size equalled ‘slag’

And yes, assumptions were made about my sexual availability

That unconscious link between tit size and presumed promiscuity

Of course, when I began to speak, they would have to think again

Confusion; Could I have both enormous bosoms and a brain?

And can I really blame those boys for making so many wrong assumptions?

For treating me as a commodity and making erroneous presumptions?

Can I blame the men who talk at my chest instead of talking to my face?

Or the ones who shout ‘tits’ in the street at me and expect me to react with grace?

When media is saturated with female forms purely for the male gaze

When ‘evolved’ man’s favourite periodical has a pair on Page Three every day

When breast lifts and implants are the most popular procedures to perform

Just yet another reminder that to be woman is to be your form

That you are nothing, nothing more than your narrowly proscribed beauty, for

What else are they for?

Than for men’s tit-illation?

Surely not for (whisper it) lactation?

As we are another nation that needs

A sign on the door to read

‘Breast-feeding mothers welcome here’

As if it’s something elsewhere feared

That breasts be used for our babies’ feeds

Instead of men’s supposed sexual ‘needs’.

And when women go topless on a beach

Without the gawking stares that greet

Their very presence in the same clothing

As men enjoy (why so much loathing?)

And don’t get arrested by the police

For the disturbing of the peace

When a female areola on social media

Does not cause mass panic and hysteria

While violent images are safe and okay

Then we might finally see the day

When we will have finally achieved

Something like


#Issue3 #JoannePriest #CreativeWriting

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