I felt young and free again. Wandering in a new land with new sights and smells and sounds unearthed the deepest wants and needs of my body.
You cannot always see the timeline of your life with tick marks at every painful memory. You cannot choose to remember the people that have hurt you, the negative words that have been shared, the times when you were low and didn’t know if you’d make it through.
Because you did. You did make it through.
Tattoos do not always have to mean something. However, if they do, you will always have a piece of your past with you, even if it is a part of your present and future.
We are obsessed with pigmentation, or a mere chemical compound that is found in our human body, and we are using that as a hallmark of beauty.
I’ve said all of the worst things to myself in the mirror. I would never speak such harsh words to another human being, so why do I feel it okay to speak to myself this way?
I’m pretty sure when you look at the Mona Lisa you’re not thinking about whether she looks fat or not/I’m 100% sure Botticelli’s Venus didn’t give a fuck about having a gap between her thighs.
I drink the ocean for breakfast and kiss the red dirt for dessert. I do not keep my freedom in a cage.
Do you expect me to walk this world completely open to you? An open book, clearly written, easily delivered. Fuck that. In a world of online profiles and the 5 second first impression swipe, you want me to show myself to you fully? What would that do? How would you survive so much honesty? So I will not.
I’m not the sick girl. I never was. I live with an illness. I was very sick at one point, but it was never who I was.
I know I’m not the first twenty-something to go through this sort of experience. To have someone roll their eyes, shake their head, or chastise you via social media because you’re just that—a twenty-something—and thus you apparently know nothing about life.