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I must have PMS.
I'm holding a shell – a breast-shaped shell – and that pisses me off. Why couldn't I be holding a conch or a clam shell? Why does the one I was given have to resemble a breast? It even has a nipple, for God's sake!
Today I am angry.
Angry that I have no breasts. Angry that reconstruction is such a detestable option to me. Angry that I'm as flat as a table. Angry that my breastbone hurts when I hug. Angry that I used to like the feel of being naked and now can't dress fast enough. Angry that I can't imagine ever making love again without a shirt on.
I'm angry.
Angry that I got a seashell shaped like a breast and not like a clam.
Unbelievable.
God, I hope I get my period soon!
This poem was written in response to a sea shell prompt in a cancer writing group. It has previously appeared in A Healing Journey, by Sharon Bray.
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