A story of love, loss and second chances by Nikita Singh, releasing this Valentine’s Day.
Are you taking care of the calcium needs of your child ?
#Poetry. Breasts. Why are these so sexualised that a girl/woman cannot go through life without lust filled eyes and hands of men touching them?
I was three
when it was harmless
to be free
I was eight
and it wasn’t right
to not cover my chest
while the boys of my age didn’t
I didn’t know why
and to find it, I didn’t try
for anyway I loved those pretty frocks
I was bought
I turned ten
and that was when
my chest puffed up
and my li’l brother enquired
as to what I had laid
in my shirt pocket…
obviously noticing something swollen there
I got the first dose of shyness,
I was ashamed of my chest;
My dad wouldn’t hug me anymore
I turned fifteen and
my breasts looked attractive to my own eyes!
I outgrew my favourite tees
Still recall the major wardrobe refill I had, back then
The perverted eyes on the street
wondered when the metamorphosis happened
I made it into one of their fantasies
They looked at me like I only had boobs
no eyes, no face, no heart
Mom recommended a dupatta
and I accepted readily
for I knew I wanted a shield
I turned twenty
and friends I had a plenty
modern and trendy
and, off went my dupatta
stopped bothering to cover my breasts
as through they were my sin
I used to take the public commute
to only be pissed off by looks
that stripped me off my clothing,
by eyes that imagined their hands full with my breasts,
eyes that gauged my size and argued over it,
that peeped shamelessly to catch a glimpse of my cleavage,
those eyes, that slut-shamed me
despite enjoying my nipples
that stuck out ’cause it was cold outside,
the eyes that had the audacity
to judge my virginity by the size of my boobs!
and by hands that tried to touch me, press me
as though “accidentally”
To them, my boobs were just mood boosters
they didn’t know what a pain it was
to hold them tight in a brassiere
wear it as tight as I could
so that they didn’t sag
so as to not be called an “aunty”
They wouldn’t ever know
how painful it was for my back
to support my huge breasts
they wouldn’t ever know the pain a bra strap could give
They won’t know the ache that comes from acne
caused due to heat building up between large breasts
I turned twenty three and
I had a boyfriend
and he never knew
that as much as I loved his hands play with my boobs
I was also scared if that could make them bigger
I turned twenty seven
and I had an infant
it pained my heart every-time I couldn’t nurse my baby well;
As much as I loved the connection I had with my baby during the breast-feed,
it sometimes made me feel like a food factory
Still when I went out, those perverts
groped my boobs with their eyes
for they thought lactating boobs were sexier
I was again part of their fantasises“milf” was my new name
I turned thirty five
my daughter was about the age she should stop being topless
and I was old enough
to panic over every lump that appeared around my boobs
I am now forty
the lump I developed recently is more serious than the usual ones I get
the mammogram had bad news for me
I was to get rid of one of my breasts
and lose my obsession over symmetry in my body
I was to get rid of the shield over my heart
to get rid of where once my baby latched with me
where my husband always loses himself
we talk about wearing heart in the sleeves
now I wear my heart in my tees
for it has lost its shield
go grab my breast
and grope it all you want!
It doesn’t hurt anymore,
it ain’t mine anymore!
Grope all you want
but it isn’t fresh
it is now but a piece of operated flesh
lying lifeless in some mess!
It will decay
and go into the dust
when will thus vanish, your lust?
Choli ke peeche, yeah hain!
Published here earlier.
Image source: pexels
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