anymore jolie prather today i gave thanks broke bread and drank soup to the joy that i don't have breasts littlebighorns to be oohed and aahed googled and eyed rolled hand over fist with everybody knows about that tragedy of sex but i don't want your redemption i'm just held up by the fact that mostly it would hurt like hell to sit here at this desk crying the way i am head over lap till my throat starts bleeding and my hands give up on their overdramatic shaking. in a mirror i'll watch my eyes turn black and burn from the cold dark iris to the white of my sclera but my breasts won't sway just like they don't exist (and the child in me still hates the man spilling in to so many boys and too many girls long into the night.) break bread. drink christ. give thanks for what you do not have.