Tuesday, March 5, 2013

"These are the things about my body: It does not always want to get up. Some days I have to spend an hour forcing myself to loosen the muscles that have, overnight, clenched up like fists.

It craves caffeine and the Internet, bubble-baths and green tea. It wants wine and laughter and books and soft sheets. It wants to be spoiled and taken care of and let go of. It wants to stop being stretched like a sugar pull.

There are days where I want to smash every mirror in the whole goddamn house—and other days, better days where I think anyone could see me and fall in love.

It is not vanity, it is not ego. It is sure, like the melting of summer into autumn, hands on a railing, mothers loving their children and kissing them goodbye at the gate.

No one will ever commemorate my beauty. There will be no parades, no parties thrown in my honor, no glossy magazine covers smelling like ink and skinny and perfect skin. This body is all I have. It is stubborn and slow to rise and it wants everything, god, it wants the world, it does. It just wants. Wants.

It wants to stop being asked, What do you look like? When you can see for yourself. When you can see."

— Kristina H., “On Getting Asked About My Appearance”

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