This blog post actually comes from motivation by one of my closest friends in high school, Jenn Brenn, or Jenn Smith, now. So, before the homage to boobs, I send my thanks to her for reminding me that laughing at myself started much sooner than college.
A little background info on the silly poem: My high school sophomore English teacher, Mrs. Lowe, asked us to write and sing our own song as a creative piece. As a generally quiet and respectful student, not comfortable in my identity, this was a horrifying task -- a task I am forever grateful Mrs. Lowe assigned to us. You see, a poem about boobs literally just popped into my head. I asked her permission, and she laughingly agreed to let me sing about boobies. So, I wrote my silly poem down, memorized it, stood up in front of a class (which I never spoke in), and sang my breast homage. After a moment of complete silence, the class laughed hysterically and I even received a standing ovation. From that moment forward, I was not afraid to speak publicly; a gift like no other.
So, this poem is for a few people: To Jenn Brenn, for making me remember and for loving me in high school, despite my absurdities. To my classmates who forever changed my confidence. And finally, to Mrs. Lowe, who first gave me the courage to be myself.
A little background info on the silly poem: My high school sophomore English teacher, Mrs. Lowe, asked us to write and sing our own song as a creative piece. As a generally quiet and respectful student, not comfortable in my identity, this was a horrifying task -- a task I am forever grateful Mrs. Lowe assigned to us. You see, a poem about boobs literally just popped into my head. I asked her permission, and she laughingly agreed to let me sing about boobies. So, I wrote my silly poem down, memorized it, stood up in front of a class (which I never spoke in), and sang my breast homage. After a moment of complete silence, the class laughed hysterically and I even received a standing ovation. From that moment forward, I was not afraid to speak publicly; a gift like no other.
So, this poem is for a few people: To Jenn Brenn, for making me remember and for loving me in high school, despite my absurdities. To my classmates who forever changed my confidence. And finally, to Mrs. Lowe, who first gave me the courage to be myself.
Breasts
By: Kristen M. Fusaro
We have two mounds upon our
chest,
Which help us look our very best.
Sometimes we pay, sometimes we
don’t,
It’s rare you’ll see a star who
won’t.
These two mounds upon our chest,
Are called melons, boobs, and
breasts.
When they merge from beneath our
shirt,
We are looked upon as dirt.
Some are large, some are small,
But fascinating are they all.
There are those that fall to the
floor,
And there are those that burst
through the door.
Men think they are God’s best
creation,
Women think they are an invasion.
We have to pay all kinds of cash,
To help enhance our womanly
stash.
Some men are just obsessed
With the wonders of our chest.
Us women just wonder why
They can get such a high,
From these two mounds upon our
chest,
I’d like to call…our breasts.
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