By Bhaavya Gupta
My brassiere comes off, one hook at a time
Sliding softly down my back, baring my front
My panties slide down next
A simple cotton, the colour of blood
Sturdy pieces of clothing that do me well
And then I am naked, my body bare
Except for the marks,
Accessories of their own.
I look up at the girl staring back through the mirror
She looks scared and vulnerable
As if only just having discovered what she is.
I look down again at my breasts
Thick with mammaries that will someday make milk
Falling softly onto my abdomen,
White lotuses with a dark seed in the middle.
I raise my arms to fondle them
Pick them up and cup them, then let them drop
And as they fall I feel a stir, one I had never noticed before.
I look at my stomach next,
Trace the lines that lead up to my navel
And then the hair that takes me beyond
To a place left unexplored for far too long.
I see a bulge there, right above the grail
Where my flat stomach should have been, but is not
And instead the slightest pooch, making me voluptuous
And maybe unappealing to those who stare.
My vagina can’t be seen through the soft lair of hair that covers it
Almost protecting it from something
Something I am yet to discover.
I take my fingers there, to a path unexplored
And I feel the happiness rise.
And then I have turned around,
and am craning my neck to stare at what is labelled my back
A long piece of flesh, arching
Almost as if made in two and joined to one.
My buttocks intrigue me, for they are round
As round as my breasts had been
But thicker, more sizeable
Very obvious against the flatness of the body
Shivering just a little when I walk.
I turn back around and stare at my body
Not smooth skinned or unmarked
But lined with stretch marks and scars,
Not just a chocolate brown or a pale white
But a number of colours,
Each part a different hue.
The girl in the mirror is scrutinising me
Staring at my lips like she would at a fruit
Craning to look at my neck And then, back at my breasts again.
I smile thereafter, a little contented
In this knowledge of my own
And slip into the bathtub,
my hair bouncing off my shoulders and falling over my breasts
And then with soap, my body is obscured once again.