so today i was walking around the southbank, on my way to see a film at the BFI (in which a 25-year-old enzo cilenti was VERY naked, surprisingly) and i was thinking about young avengers, and also myself.
specifically, i was thinking about this panel:
and i was thinking about like… i don’t know. recently i have been feeling a lot more comfortable in my own body. i have always had issues with like, inhabiting myself – i mean, i still do, i still look at my face in the mirror and think “how the fuck is this ME???” – but recently i have got better at like, my own body. my big thighs, my body hair, i am basically making peace with it. which is great. but also – like, bubbling under the surface, until it suddenly like – burst. has been. this.
i have talked about like, sexuality on here before. how i don’t like talking about it, how i don’t like defining it. and i still don’t want to define it! but over the past few weeks i have been just like – feeling much more like… i am allowed to like women. i am allowed to exist and to have desires that aren’t what i – thought i would have? it’s honestly like… it honestly is like this panel. or it’s like. someone flipped a switch and suddenly the room i’m in is lit up.
when i was 14, i told my best friend i was bisexual, and them immediately recanted it, and was like, no, because… i don’t know. i was scared, and i was scared because i was like – this word doesn’t fit. and for the past few years i have been like. nervously skirting around it. thinking: i am not enough. i am not anything enough. but i am trying very hard to tell myself that i am. trying to fling open all the doors and windows. trying to make sure i can see everything.