My skin breaks out and flares up, resentful of my poor bone structure, perhaps. My hair tries to fly away from my scalp, unruly and untamed. My body aches and creaks insolently. My hands gesticulate wildly, trying to fly from my wrists. My eyebrows raise frequently, wanting to distance themselves from my eyes, I suppose. Why is my physicality so rebellious, contrary carnality? It’s in protest of my insides, foolhardy heart and cutting mind.
— I’m failing at feeling beautiful