at what age do you own your femininity?

ordinary girls
spend the first few years
of sprouting breasts
in denial
of what is obvious
to everyone else

if the men don't undress you
with their eyes
right in the middle of a bazaar,
make you go red from head to toe.
(and you are the one forced to turn away-
because they won't)
the women,
(and them you cannot even
run away from)
with their intimate probing and jeering
will surely make you wish
you were buried miles under the earth.

and so you walk hunched,

carry backpacks in front,
wear outsized clothes,
and heavy shawls in sweltering heat
if you are forced to dress your size,
cling to the tight squeeze of sports bras
for as long as possible.
That at best makes you lflat,

And at worse makes them

Look like a loaf of bread.

But even a rectangle is preferable

To the merest suggestion

Of two spheres.

Anything, 

Anything that can help you pretend

That breasts don't exist

but this is not how it should be, is it?

i look at the transgenders

their model-like posture
breath sucked in,
chest thrown out, 
head thrown back,

and i think
i should have been
as they are.
unashamed of my femininity.

who took it away from me?
where went the excitement
of dressing up in mummy's clothes
and waiting fervently
to grow up and be like her?
who shattered my notions of beautiful womanhood
and made it feel like a burden? a shame?
who made me ashamed of something
that is as natural as a nose?