by Kim Lefort
My breasts
weigh
me
down
Curve my back
Bruise my shoulders
Smother my ribs
Into the shape of female desirability
Skin and fat spill from my hands
as I try to grasp at my self-worth
Male gaze
Male touch
Male lips
heavied womanhood
If pain is currency for beauty
How can you explain the poverty
of my love reflected in the mirror.
But tomorrow the doctor will cut away
the patriarchal mass in my breasts
and I will take my first breath
of self-love, whole-chested.
***
Kim Lefort (she/her) is an aspiring writer based in Montreal, Canada. Her work has been published in the McGill student journal Samizdat. She likes frogs, folklore, and urban agriculture.
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