Word Prompts (H2): Happiness
Sometimes I find myself chasing this… this ideal that doesn’t exist. As if holding myself to some impossible standard will somehow make me better, make me happier. It doesn’t. So fuck that.
I like having hair on my body. I like how, when the air is chilly, each and every hair will stand on end as if they are knights defending me from the cold. I like how, after a shower, beads of water will catch and hold and glimmer in the light making every strand jewel encrusted, and myself a masterpiece.
I like my scars. I like the miniature valleys and mountains arrayed on my forehead leftover from the stitches of my overly eager childhood adventures. I like the lightning bolts of stretch marks on my thighs, on my belly, on my breasts. I like the keloids winding and flowing their way down my leg, a memento of jellyfish stings. I am a world thriving and full of life.
I have callouses on my hands and crooked pinkies besides. I have spots and moles and a tendency towards dry skin and dandruff. I have yellowing teeth and jiggling, fatty arms and hair and eyes that are plain, normal brown. And I like it. I like me. I like who I am. And that makes me happy.
JackSGreyson Says 