You Have Seen, Many Times, The Phrase Love Your Body! And Every Time, Like Rainwater, It Glides Off You.

you have seen, many times, the phrase love your body! and every time, like rainwater, it glides off you. not because you cannot love it - you mostly, like, tolerate it - but because of the word "your".

is this your body? when you were 11 you had to start shaving your legs because other girls found it gross you were hairy. when you were 12, you had to stop wearing v-necks because of your chest - people were staring. your mother didn't let you dye your hair. your first boyfriend makes you dress up in skimpy clothes for him, then hated when other people coveted you. what you wear and how you present determine whether or not people find you funny or annoying or arrogant. other people get to determine if you are pretty, a court of opinion so loud it blots any good intent.

when is the body yours? magazines and instagram and tiktok endlessly advising you to "take care of" (starve) your body as if it is a weed. you must hack and slash at it, defend yourself from its wanton desires. it is a shameful, greedy thing. it is more like an art piece. you are keeping it or being kept-in-it.

you try to language it to your therapist - it's not that you don't recognize yourself in the mirror, it's more just that the thing that is in the mirror - it isn't you. that's why it's so easy to take apart: you're vaguely aware of the shape, but it feels like you are an animal hiding in the back of this cavern, snarling.

obviously you're like stuck in it. it often hurts a lot, buzzes with pain and a strange numbness. so it is your body when it's painful. that makes sense. otherwise - how many times have you been told to save yourself (your body) for marriage. for someone else. you are just borrowing it.

love your body! is so funny. somehow, without meaning to, the phrase reminds you - it isn't you. you're just inside it.

it's difficult when you've only ever been loved like a dog. who am i without my tricks? my loyalty? my devotion to you? who am i when you leave me at the kennel, who am i when i run away from home?

for the first time, i actually want to tell you something, let you in on my life.

not for the burn but for the warmth, because i love you and i want you in my life.

but you are one of the people who light the fire burning in that house. and you don’t love me enough to look past your own opinions. you don’t love me enough to put down the matches.

you don’t love me enough.

so i have to plan around the burning home. i plan an escape route, and check all the fire alarms. i fill water buckets and leave all the windows unlocked. i make sure i’m prepared for the flames, for every scenario.

becuase otherwise i will choke on the smoke that used to keep me warm.

you love me but it’s not enough and it never will be. that’s the tragedy.

in another universe we would all be one big happy family

they would be happy for you and they would tolerate me

but we are in this universe...

a universe where they are not happy for you unless they are happily controlling your every move and where i am the demon who will walk you to hell herself

we are in this universe where we only have our little family of two

it can just be us for a while

the rest of the universe can get fucked

the night before our last day in my hometown, you helped me organise my meds and you made us banana choc chip pancakes for dinner and made me my first vietnamese style coffee. these moments whisper i love you.