When I’m fifty-three My tits will be free To chat with my knees If they so please

I’ve tried elastic and boning to hold the girls up But all the scaffolding in the world would not be enough My belly is wavy with numerout pleats, There may be stripes too (I can’t see underneath)

I used to cinch everything in, Thought shapewear was a win. But I couldn’t breathe or bend So gave up on it in the end

I gave up trying to look like all the other ladies did And started to embrace what before I always hid Now that I’m passing fifty my tits will finally be free To have a little chat with my once far distant knees.