red claws.
wider waist bands.
longer sleeves.
hair down.
as if morphing my clothes to cover the parts i don't like will make them disappear.
baggy dress.
that should do it? sleeve to cover my upper arms. not tightly fitted to my stomach.
the discomfort of adjusting to a new belly roll.
the first time discovering a back roll. being young and thin and having skin, not necessarily fat. but the seat belt just wouldn't sit right. and i became so aware of this roll.
then it was the marks. my thighs. my arms. my breasts. my stomach. my butt. my lower back.
all new additions that felt uncomfortable.
change is always hard, right?
when my lower stomach no longer fits correctly into my jeans. and my breasts stretch the fabric of my shirts, turning everything provocative. for the simple act of existing is too much.
and i hate it.
hate feeling like i am in someone else's skin. is that an internal feeling brought on by myself or an imposed one brought on by society?
i'll never know.
but the growth and stretching is uncomfortable. it always will be.
and why is it i must be smaller to feel bigger?
YOU ARE READING
collection
Poetryyou've probably stumbled upon this book in a matter of coincidence. this book is the most confusing, most randomly compiled thing to ever exist most likely. practically anything that i have purely and deeply thought, written, or felt, is in this boo...
