Sunday, 30 July 2017


I've been educating myself to be more aware of the self-criticism which is so ingrained within my being.

Somehow I have never acknowledged that often with privacy I would lift my clothes and study the flesh hidden underneath. Late nights in bars, I would find myself investigating my fat rolls from dingy bathroom cubicles, blurrily reminding myself that I do not meet society's standard of beauty.

The same routine I have carried with me since a child, never forgetting that I should better my appearance, have control, and strive to change. 
The stubborn burden of existing in a vessel that wasn't enough.

I have yet to break the habit,
despite knowing that I am a healthy and beautiful form.

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