Instead of revising, I grew my body hair.
Eventually I caved to a social pressure and waxed my armpit.
I remembered that it did actually hurt. Spots of blood. It was kind of violent!
The bare skin looked shocking like a sad, plucked chicken.
Eventually I caved to a social pressure and waxed my armpit.
I remembered that it did actually hurt. Spots of blood. It was kind of violent!
The bare skin looked shocking like a sad, plucked chicken.
I was assaulted. I was bulimic.
One trauma meshed neatly into the other |
later sought refuge with my love drenched, deep in red abuse
|
c. May 2013
