There’s something that happens when you start looking at your body.
When you start seeing it as this thing that doesn’t belong to you.
There’s something that happens when you laugh about these narratives of feeling trapped inside your own body.
When you stop calling a body your own, and exclude yourself from the story around that.
I feel trapped, chased, caught, blocked. I feel like I ran into every wall possible.
And you were not there to pick me up, caress my bruises and scars.
I feel alone, left alone, lonely. There’s no one here to tell me
That I’m beautiful.
No one to convince me
That I shouldn’t be uncomfortable with the way I’m looked at.
That it’s okay to not know what to do,
That it’s okay to be lost somewhere out of space,
That it’s okay to cry and be overwhelmed by how much you just don’t have a language for knowing what you feel.
april 2016