Touching Myself

A poem As an AFAB, genderfluid, queer person, I'm not the biggest fan of my body. This poem encompasses some dysphoric thoughts about my breasts. I have tits. Hanging gently, easy to Lift, caress, poke, and Fondle. They’re Soft to the touch, squishing like Slime, or hardly-set jello. They never leave. They’re Glued on, sitting …