As I stand before the mirror

Ogling at my naked reflection,

A sudden flush of shame

Drives my vexed hands

To cover my peeping breasts

And my fingers touch the light brown spot

Bulging out from the surface

Warm and tender.

My eyes constantly gaze

At the ugly scars

That were hidden by a scarf,

At the extra belly fat

That was always veiled

And at what I tried best to hide,

The pimple marks

Concealed by cosmetics.

But then I gather courage

To uncover my breasts

And run my fingers

Across the borders of edged curves,

My fingertips travel far off places,

Often unvisited and remote,

Undressing all my fears and insecurities.

The butterflies in my stomach

Fly a little higher

As my soft skin sweats

And I lie down,

Satisfyingly tired.

I recall,

How the scarf on my neck

Had chocked me all the time,

How the bra straps

Had bruised my pale skin,

How I used to put myself down

Every time I longed

To touch a man and be touched

To kiss hard and enter a world unknown,

How I cursed myself

For dreaming of being cuddled.

For I was a woman

Taught to chain herself gracefully

In an invisible cage.

For I am a woman

Who has no desires,

Whose body is just a toy

To satiate men

And a manufacturing unit

To produce “pure” kids,

For if I desire

I am not “pious”!

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay