From a young age, my tits gave me trouble.
Got me pinned by girls in the shitter as they
Inspected those things they hadnt yet got.
Made that man on the French tube slide
His hand onto mine, escargot eyes sliming
A trail over my pink sweater, me just eleven.
Impinged into the rear view mirror of a chap
Who happened by the motorway, that time;
Who licked his lips when I asked why and what
He wanted. Opened his car flaps and came
Towards me. And I ran away,
Into a teenagehood of hiding, myself and
These things: bubs, boobs, baps.
Twin bumps I only saw through the target eyes
Of others. And which from that last day
I kept, like the rest of me, hidden; under wraps.