I remember waiting for puberty,
Yearning for it to come,
So I’d be the ‘same’ as the other girls.
It weren’t so much puberty itself,
As it were boobs.
My chest remained flat for so long.
Then when it did grow,
I had very little to show.
Changing for P.E became strategic.
Trying to change under a white shirt,
Afraid if the other girls saw my tiny non breasts,
I’d be laughed at.
Avoiding looking anywhere,
Fearing eye contact would bring mockery .
Some girls stripped off confidently,
Showing off their bra busting busts.
I envied them.
It didn’t help that I was underweight,
Deeply intwined in an eating disorder.
Not because I thought I was fat,
But because it gave me some control.
The turbulence of teenage years,
Combined with dyslexia and anxiety,
Made it a difficult time.
I remember seeing the words,
“ Sam” dates corpses”
Carved on to a brick wall in chalk.
Carved on my soul indefinitely.
Painfully toxic to a growing mind.
Entering early adult hood,
Came with its own damages.
Partners who treated me crap.
One guy even pushed my bust together,
Trying to make my breasts appear bigger,
While shamelessly pining after a co-worker.
No care for my feelings,
Yet insecurities kept me with him,
Longer than I’d care to have been.
Then I met my long term partner.
He loved every inch of my body.
Supported every bit of my flaws.
He made me feel good about my body.
Sexy for the first time.
He loved my breasts,
Stating a hand fill was just enough.
It’s funny how much control the world has,
On your body, mind and soul.
Society feeds us with perfection.
Yet perfection is only an illusion.
An illusion we all strive to be,
With devastating consequences sometimes.
By Autumn Willow
Copywrite@A.Willow/ K.Haigh February 2019