Unfettered Merit

Standard

What is wrong with the natural slope of my breasts
the curve
the way they rest above my ribs

There were those days
most all of me felt sun
as I played diapered in a wading pool
rolled down the grassy hill
ate salted watermelon on the cement patio

Times when my breasts were bare
uncontained
yet it was my smile
they scrutinized
the timbre of my laugh
the gauge of my worth

I grew
my breasts swelled

a little

My merit now bound
to my skill to conform
reshape
contain
disguise
the topography of my own flesh

Julie Ayers
August 2011

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About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

4 responses »

    • Hey Jennifer, thanks for reading and providing feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem. I just keep fighting the power. ๐Ÿ™‚ Patriarchies suck. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Dreams of equity and mutual respect. Hugs.

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