breasts, thoughts

Breasts.
Can’t say I ever paid
them much attention.
Breasts.
They were just there
on others.

Now, I see them
everywhere.

The hardly detectable,
the comfortable looking round ones,
the bulging ones,
the ones below a shirt,
the ones pressed
together, forming a crack
or is this a crevice?
I see the ones of a mother,
carrying her child.
I see the ones pushed up,
maybe a call for attention
maybe craving attention
praise
lust
a touch.
Breasts.
I rarely noticed them on others.
Though, I remember my surprise
when I finally fully grasped
that each pair of breasts is unique
in shape
in size
in the direction of the nipple
in the size of the nipple’s nest
and the length of the aroused nipple.
Some breasts are like tubes or short towers,
some are round,
some are small
others large.
There are so many of them.
I hardly ever noticed
before it became an option
that both mine might go.

I look at these people
and wonder
what they would look like
without breasts.

I also wonder
what I might look like without breasts
but strangely, right now, I’m more intrigued
by the breasts of others.

It’s not just the more feminine breasts
I suddenly see.
It’s also those of a more masculine nature.
And my heart lifts.
Will my chest look like that, too?

And then I look at my breasts,
bulging,
round,
lush,
probably feeling rejected.

I wish I had taken better care of myself.
I wish I had taken the time to fall in love
with my breasts.
Not that I am eager to keep them.
I just kind of feel that they deserved
better,
that I shouldn’t have ignored them
this much,
that I should have caressed them,
maybe kissed them,
just to let them know
that they are OK,
and it’s not their fault
that I fantasise
about having a muscly chest
with not much of a breast.
A chest strong and firm,
open and resilient.
A chest that can withstand a blow
without much pain.

© Charlie Alice Raya, August 2023, breastless