Everyday I am screamed at by the mind--be right, match, fit the conformist standards set today by society. Roman reaches over and squeezes me, is he making fun? Teasing? Or just... squeezing? At the moment it was strange, and confusing, but now I don't feel it. The mind screams at me "WHY?" "What was your fault?" Everyday I am hidden, sucked in, contained inside of a loose fitting shirt, or if it's tight, a jacket is thrown on top. Never seeing the light, never daring to show even the slightest bulge in the shirt or jacket. Tight, in, hidden, never shown, never good enough. Only spoken of negatively, only thought of negatively... the thighs and arms agree. I contain vital organs, so would a little extra padding be a bad thing? Apparently so. To speak of anything that is in demand of correctness in a light of reason or positively would be taboo. Sorry to the rest of the body, for bringing you down, but mind, maybe you're pulling me down.
-Emily
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There's freedom in learning to show a bulge, but it often takes years to find it. Good post, Emily.
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