The Size of my Breast

 I was 10 years old when I realized my chest had lumps,

actually, two lumps growing.

I never shared; feared 

how the conversation would gear.

But it gave me pain, excruciating pain

making me feel I would die.

Few days into it, my mom

noticed, gave me a whit samij,

a tight wear beneath my shirt that helped me hid my lump,

and told, "tero supari dana chhop",

 hide your area nut, a metaphor

for our budding breast.

I hid it, hid it with all my width

until I was 20 and my boyfriend

wanted to touch it.

I removed his hand in agony 

terrorizing with the thought

how it hasn't grown much

since the day I had hidden it in bay.

He pleaded, I slowly unbuttoned

and placed his hands 

on my bosom, it pained more,

different than before

still his hands placed there

he share, "timro ta kasto sano raicha"

"Your breasts are small."

It kept on repeating, repeating and repeating:

heating up my heart and mind,

I rushed to buy

a padded bra that, with a piecing rod

it pained again, yes different,

it even left a mark on my chest

looks like a red smile underneath my 

pink nippled breast.

I turned 30, the journey continued.

I wonder how my breast feels confused

if it knows its size,

its actual size,

how it looks, red or pink, small or big?

Who am I?

It is confused.

I know just like me it wears a personality

and adjusts based on its outer covering.