Existential Crisis Of A Bra

Men and women, both adore me alike,
But yet, I come of use to only one.
I can cause quite a stir by my beatific appearance; by a simple peek-a-boo.
Some look, and they keep looking; delighted
at the advocacy of my mere existence, sloppy grins plastered on
their vacuous faces. Some shrug, a quick glance and their eyes never retrace back to me.
Oh they break my heart!
But most arch their brows,
point at me with unease;
nudge each other and give me snarky glares.
Then they come closer,
whisper to the head whose shoulders I hang from,
with a forced expulsion of self righteousness
and brimming hypocrisy,
“Excuse me, your bra strap is showing!”


And I cry,
I cry out of envy; because as everything goes
in the universe
My male counterparts are valued higher than me!
Those vests on them boys,
they smirk as I weep;
Why can they be flaunted without abhorring the society?
I matter too! Ask Victoria
I’m sure she agrees.
My evil twin, she doesn’t get berated-
Oh everybody loves the smug Bikini!
Then why are my straps the new sign of indecency?
How come everybody wants me there,
But nobody wants me to be seen?


And I cry,
I cry out of exhaustion; yet another court order against me.
You claim, I cause rape;
I excite, I entice.
I lure, I scintillate.
Honey, the only job I do
is to uphold mammaries.
I’m done hiding beneath sloppy shards,
I probably ain’t the showstopper
But that don’t mean I’m improper!
The next time you see me through a shred of clothing
or peeking out from a tee
or boldly bare for the world to see
You respect me.
I’m as guileless as a garment can be!