Sometimes, I feel like all of my important emotions are stored in my breasts. On the days I forego wearing a bra, I feel this deep-seated sadness in my chest. The friction between the cloth and the skin of my nipples is the birthplace of this unexplained heaviness I feel. It pulls me to the ground and anchors me to the bed. I want to cut them off. I want to keep them. I don't want to be defined by them. This thing is called womanhood. I understand, and I don't. Why can't I just be people? Being a woman is too exhausting. Some days, being a woman means being a floating pair of breasts. I put my bra back on and think of the blinkers on a horse's vision.
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Flesh Memory
RandomMy thoughts on paper. Through this collection, I aim to work my way through my feelings and come to terms with life as it is.
