Legs, light, levity
and some more legs.
There is so much I want to talk about regarding the body standards women are subjected to but I don't because I am still unlearning them. I can run around with my chicken-like hairy legs near people I'm comfortable with, friends and family, even the market below my abode that I peep into daily. But I hesitate to a change of four clothes, just by thinking of wearing anything above my ankles with unshaven legs, when I need to be anywhere around people who are not my closests. Stupid and ironical. Why should I care about what strangers think of the hair on my body? I don't care about them. Why should I care about their thoughts? But as soon as logic tries to creep in, internalised, pretentious beauty standards barge through the door.
Bleach your skin until it is as white as your coloniser. Cut your belly until it is as straight as your normalised 'default' sexuality. Scrape your legs until they are as devoid of growth as a heath. Bleach, cut, scrape until you bleed. But don't talk about the bleeding. Do not tell people that it is there so that the barren land you want on my legs does not become contagious and reach my uterus. Do not even speak of it. You know, law of attraction.
God forbid, who will marry a barren woman?
There is so much, so much I want to talk about but won't because I am still unlearning my childhood, so much I am so ignorant about, so much more to learn, so much I can't begin to express, so much I shouldn't? But I can think and I do think. Sometimes, I think so much that I get a headache. Not kidding. (Continued in the comments)