Funbags
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
EQUALITY
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