Dear Wigleaf, I have one foot out the door. Know that. My roommate wants me to be beautiful and I do not want to be beautiful. I have nothing against it—beauty, but I am not willing to hack at and dismember my body in order to get there. I ran twelve miles today and at the end I was the same body I started as. That's comforting. That I can move my body a distance and maintain my body's integrity. My roommate is beautiful. You wouldn't know it to look at her. But I know she is because of the work she puts into it. Women labor to be beautiful. They crawl out of nooks and crannies and smile beautiful smiles. Their faces hurt. They are quiet. You have to listen for them. That scritch-scratch could be the world's most beautiful woman. Look! Over there! Is that her? The flick of her eyeliner, the ombré of her hair. She is the most beautiful fucking thing we've ever seen and I hope she is coming dangerous and ready to fuck or kill me, to fuck or kill us all. Cheers. - - -
Read BW's story.
|