Breast Input

As mundane life is skidding by,

We come to realize that we live

In a world of incongruities and lies

In a society that wishes to feed us a reality

That doesn't feel quite right;

And yet,

We find ourselves lazily

Sucked into a blinding vortex

Of written assertions, vocal encouragements

And pictorial representations

Expert at keeping us away from mentally growing,

Away from where we could be emotionally

If we weren't so absorbed

By every pound that occupies the feeble thought

When blinded fails to detect the deceit as an

Indicator as to where our

True power falls


Despite social criticism and feminist appeals,

We remain aptly caught in a sordid social web

That numbs our capacities to properly assess

What is worth putting to the test,

Keeping us from tasting thought liberated

And at its best;


Somehow, knowledge alone

Does not a potent catalyst make

To steer clear of the cattle call and help us

Live the feminine for our explicit sake;

Somehow, acknowledging the dissonance

In our thoughts and actions

Does not cure our wish to be

Pleasingly thin

While offering up curves that defy

Natural paradigms and leave us to

Ourselves properly blind;


We continue abiding by the hourglass impression

Succumbing to the two edged courage

Of meeting the surgical knife

To thus remodel ourselves to the

Acknowledged Aesthetic of our day,

So we may become consecrated as an

 appendix to beauty's shrine

- An altar welcoming offerings

Of a more and more peculiar kind,

Cast of a mold, whose contours reveal

Punishing and restrictive lines;


By now, we should all know better

Than to subscribe to an often patriarchal, patronizing

At times flat out misogynistic societal system

That stubbornly insists on telling us

That our worth depends on the bulge of our bra

Or the petite size of our pants;


Those of us who read of all the good

That can be found within

Can sense that there is so much left untapped,

So many aspects of life more worthy,

So many facets of our being meriting praise

Rather than how much attention we may garner

Dressed up and exposed out on the town


We know better - so why do we continue

To enslave ourselves

To chain ourselves to an erroneous public call

That tells us we have to change our habits and our thoughts

So we may hone a temporary body to impress a fickle crowd,

Whose seemingly encouraging and authoritative words

Can never mend nor fill our emotional floor;


We consequently indulge away from bliss

When we let the outside world of image and politics

Dictate particular angles and proportions of lightness;

We concede spiritual space and clutter it up with a heavy mess of

Eating more to escape what’s there waiting to be processed


Why does weighing more equal accepting ourselves less?

Is it because the public discourse about our curves

Has become ubiquitous and thus inevitable?

Are we to starve our creative impulses to

Gain a few more looks from a random passerby,

Who will never come to know the slightest bit of us

Unless a connecting seed is planted beyond surface sight?


Does our toiling all boil down to momentary, illusory appreciation

Are we just here to capture and accumulate approving cheers and admiration,

To erect a commemorative gallery of fleeting looks and compliments

That bases its conclusion on alluring visions of rapidly declining existence?


From the moment we are born, our shells are ageing recklessly

By way of constant cell deterioration that marches on mercilessly

With each passing digit of our daily lives;

What we say and what we do

Irrelevant of how we look

Should be our greatest assets and our grandest method

To form and cultivate vertical connections;


Beauty should not be bottled up tightly and physically constraining;

We have a say in how we wish to be talked about as women

- As people sporting female forms -

Of course, archetypes exist: they flourish, slightly change, prevail,

And certain physical preferences may never completely fade;

Particular features may unfailingly bait multiple eyes and loins,

But what ‘Can’ change is our deformed attitude,

Our diseased view of our integrated anatomy

Staging wanton attacks on awaiting awareness;


It is perfectly all right to sport an A over a G,

And there is nothing wrong with a filling shape;

What we need to learn is to grow a stronger sense of self

And a mind that can spot and neutralize

The false messages that society and its media spies

Wish to forcefully dish out on the slithering side;


It takes practice to overlook and cast aside

What certain heads with public might

Have decided without our say to be a meaningful plight;


I know I am slave to these messages and my own body's executioner;

I am aware that the knowledge I've gained is not enough

To keep some baser instincts at bay;

I am just as much caught in a forbidding net

That casts me out to sea

And nudges me to seek recognition and approval

On merely a surface base;


It's an imprisonment that is fast becoming an open cage

For those of us,

Who can afford to challenge the paradigm,

Who can resist the victims’ game

And instead reconnect to our inner wellspring

By forging a renewed pact with nature

And its equalizing equanimity



I am not standing outside this degrading and

De-womanizing sick societal spiel;

To put it bluntly and quite simply:

My Breast Input is far from being my best input!

I can surely sell you and myself illusions

Of skin deep grandeur and spurious claims to permanence,

But all it achieves is feeding a rabid race

That whips up an array of comparative plots,

Increasingly deepening the existing maelstrom

Of a potentially mighty feminine culture

That, for now, alas, remains

In constant danger of falling prey

To the belittling game of glorified attire