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

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