One last shimmy in honor of my dearly loved tits. While they did overstay their welcome, they will be missed nonetheless. R.I.P. My tits, practically overnight in the fifth grade - March 29, 2012.
It’s been a little over a year since we said goodbye to my sweet girls. While I haven’t missed them even once, I’ve thought of them often with love and respect.
Y’all don’t even know what those tits went through. From having rapists tell them their freckles were a skin disorder when I was 11, being kicked off of the “peer mediators” team because the teacher thought the school shirt looked obscene on them at 12, not knowing how to ask my male friends to stop touching them when I was 14, and not taking my shirt off during sex until I’d been sexually active for over a year, to getting them pierced at 17 and finally looking at them and finding them beautiful, flashing basically everyone at the Atlanta Pride Parade that year, and really, fully loving them and owning them and seeing them and working them.
I loved my tits long after I realized that I didn’t want to see them in the mirror anymore. I loved my tits when I strapped them down and draped myself in cheap lingerie for the first time on stage. I loved my tits when I made the expensive decision to remove them. I love them now when I trace my fingers over my scars.
You were loved, and you will never be forgotten.