36C
[For a little background, I use a wheelchair to get around as I have an orthopedic condition called Arthrogryposis. I performed this at the city-wide poetry slam and won first prize. The video is attached!]
As I rolled into the room in which I currently exist
I bet I could tell you what you saw
Perhaps more accurately than even you remember
You looked at my vehicle
Foam gray tires
Lime green frame
Foot rest oddly angled
Maybe you even noticed my feet on top of it
You must think you’re very observant
But there is one thing you may have missed
The fact that
I
Am
A 36 C
Yes, I’m talking about my boobs
The mountains sitting atop my chest
I’m sure no matter the venue
This is inappropriate
But being appropriate has never been my forte
People are afraid of me
Of looking at me
That way
Because
You can’t risk your friends’ whispered mocking’s
And
Sincere disapprovals
You’re afraid that you’ll take advantage of me
Of me!
Who hands out semicolons like hotcakes
As if you could even try to take advantage of me
You
Are
Obtuse
And blind
Because if you could only see past my
Furniture
Than you might get to me
Because despite this throne in which I begrudgingly sit as per my birthright
I
Am
Hot
Or maybe I would be
If I was able to get up
To rise above my
Category
My
Box
The one to which I have been confined since my inception into a society of narrow-minded label makers incapable of being reprogrammed
Objectify me
I want to know what all the beautiful girls are complaining about
Or
Let the label on my forehead
Overshadow the one brasserie
Which
In case you forgot
Is a 36C