“I was tired and my breasts were swaying in the wind…” thought no real woman ever

Edit: This poem is written about The House of Sand and Fog…not a romance novel …also not a good book 🙄

It’s the first time I’ve read a book

Written by a man since I lost my disgusting male friend

I particularly don’t enjoy reading

Women written by men

But this book tricked me

There are two main characters

A Iranian family man

And a drug addicted woman

You can immediately see that the author

Is neither a woman or Iranian

When I get into the woman’s section

She’s in a hotel and puts her hands

Under her voluptuous breasts to relax

Listen: unless our breasts are causing

Wardrobe considerations or discomfort

Or we are having sex, or thinking about it

We literally never think about our breasts

Particularly when we are lying down relaxing

Watching motel television

But just in general

It is not a part of our real life narratives

And I know trying to speak for all women is wrong

But what’s worse is trying to speak for their tits

Tits cant stand up for themselves

(Even though I’m sure they will by chapter six)

And even if we do put our hands under our breasts to relax

Would you write about a Male protagonist

Doing the same with his ballsack?

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