Talking

‘They’re talking to me’ he said, staring me down with a glint in his eye, squinting a little, as if trying to give himself x-ray vision in order to see through my training bra
I was a budding adolescent, barely thirteen
He was referring to the two growing humps of my chest, of course

That was the first time I learned of my newfound ability
To turn the heads of men
Whether I wanted to or not

When I was a bit older,
And my breasts had grown considerably larger
I charged them rent
By using my body to make a living
Enough to get by and then some

I heard what every Tom, Dick and Harry
Had to say about my boobs
And the rest of my visible anatomy, for that matter

All the while I never stopped to listen
To what my breasts were trying to tell me
But here is what I hear them say now:

I am sacred                                                                                                                                                  I am powerful
I am deserving of respect