Why are you so offended? What did I do wrong? And why do you think I care?
I'm not as feeble as you think I am.
None of the padosi aunty's judgements, none of the mirrors in the changing room, none of the very expensive makeup lined up by her dresser, and well, none of your opinions on how long I should grow my hair and how short my dress should be, can tell me how I'm expected to look. I like chicken. And cheese. And the fries at the end that are extra crispy soaked in oil. I honestly don't mind the grass that grows on my skin because well, it's my garden, not yours.
I like squishing the black heads on my face, imagining a pop sound in my head as I do so. Sometimes, I am more wolf than woman and don't see why I should apologise for my wild.
I hate it when my bra gets entangled and would ease that out in public no matter how clumsy I look. I like my imperfections, no I love them. The mark down my back, the second piercing hole on my ear, the stretch marks on my hips. And so, I smile and stand infrint of the mirror and look at myself, bare. Becuase my body isnt anything else but mine and your eyes don't define it. I'm beautiful, I'm radiant and don't give a shit because I'm honestly so much more than th