"It's not who you are that holds you back,
it's who you think you're not."
I wonder if I am alone in this - if there exists another twenty-something out there
who finds such uncertainty in beauty, in femininity, in purpose.
I like to think that, blue lipped, I could be anyone that is me and me only; that
I have a voice and identity strong and unchanging; the same person that I was and
shall forever be. But choked, neither here nor there, my blue lips part and nothing comes out.
Fashion is dangerous, and so is feminism. If we're not part of the it-crowd, we're
stuck somewhere in between. If we so find ourselves uninterested in the woes of
patriarchal socialization we're 'un-liked,' 'unfriended,' and forgotten it seems.
It's dangerous to speak, it's dangerous to both hide our legs and expose
our bodies, it becomes political to breathe.
When I think feminism, I think survival. I think 'how fucked up is this
that challenging the stupid is so criminal.'