It is good for me to live outside my skin because the pain is only in my head, and as much as I struggle to think the right things, it is through what I feel that I know myself. I know myself only through my body, I don’t trust my brain. I contradict myself frequently. I contain multitudes like the great poets, and though I have lost myself again and again like them I still won’t change a thing. My head is a heavy balloon, I don’t remember how it got like this and I know I don’t love myself enough, but I was born to be beautiful.
