I remember a time
when I was the only girl in my class who hadn’t gone through puberty.
Mosquito bites for breast,
stuffed my training bra with bunched up socks,
just to see what it felt like.
Dressed in loose-fitted clothes,
to cover my boyish figure.
Pray to god when you need his help.
But how can I ask God for tits?
Instead I ask,
God, make me a woman.
I carry B-cups on my chest,
monthly visits from a friend,
who arrives grand,
in her unbecoming
I fell asleep with my bra on again.
This morning, my skin is marked.
Abdominal pains are coming on,
trying to make its way through my uterus.
Bloated, but I’m forcing the water retention into a pair of tight jeans.
What a bad start to my day.
The flat chested little girl inside,
“You damn all the things you ever wanted,
But you are a woman now.”