This is a bridge in Paris. You hang locks on it with the name of you & your boyfriend/girlfriend/best-friend then throw the key into the river. So even though the friend/relationship may end, you can’t remove the lock. It stays there forever, as relevance to someone once a part of your life.
Unleashing frustration because I’m tired of finals and talking about these huge themes of identity and I’ve had way too much coffee:
I’m having this problem where I can’t get comfortable in my own skin but I’m working really hard at feeling good about myself and on the days that I feel more feminine than others I do things like wear dresses because that’s my mode of coping with negative body image, chipping away at all the bad I carry around with me all the time just by having to present myself with the body I was given, and then I walk down any street and am met with the most judgemental looks imaginable - either disgust at what I am wearing and how I’ve chosen to present myself or overt oogling (or worse, verbal expression) of people viewing me as a sexual object, cat-calling and objectifying me without so much as a thin viel of respect for me as a person.
And I’m always struggling with feeling too masculine or not feminine enough and in all of these ways I’m trying to prevent not wanting to get out of bed every day because of the way I look and all of the things that I can’t change or could change but either am too lazy to or don’t want to and it’s really uncomfortable knowing that however I want to deal with all of this I will be met with unfair and unwanted and slimy judgements from strangers.
The ways that I choose to present my physical self have no reflections upon you, nor are they for you, in any way. The same way that yours are not mine to judge. I choose not to shave my armpits. I choose to have short hair. I choose to be okay with my weight without being thin. I choose to wear short skirts. I choose sometimes to walk home instead of take the bus and fuck you for making me regret that decision, every time. I choose to ride my bike some days, and my legs are not in anyway on display for you to comment on them. I am not a male-identifying person and for you to call me “sir” or ask your friends in a just-too-loud whisper which gender you think I side with is not okay.
My body is exactly mine and I have every right to it. You, do not.
