My Left Breast

strange it was there just the other day hanging about as usual, reminding me in my mirrored image of my definite femininity now gone, am I less of a woman? will you look at me differently, or strangely as I do myself? I never really gave it much thought before of how things come in pairs how lonely one would be without the other how misshaped one appears, no longer jutting forward, proclaiming sensuality thrusting into the limelight, now scars and a flattened ego, fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing men, look at me in horror, women in shock and pity and with gratitude, yes that it is not them my left breast is missing no not missing, taken, stolen... it was just a lump a few weeks ago a tiny pea shaped knob, that hid its cancerous intentions so very well, yet lay in silence waiting to steal away that part of me that defined who I was what purpose I served in society am I still a woman, a sexual being? I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so but yearns for its mate, the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided my left breast is gone, surgically removed I can still hear its scream