finally... i'm on my way.

meat market.

I keep trying to remember a time where life was simpler. I keep hearkening back to slight impressions of my childhood; fleeting reminiscences of sunlight or laughter or freedom.

Instead, all I can remember is feeling too small, too powerless. My head wouldn't even reach over counters and my every thought was overlooked.

I still dream of a world where I'd matter -- where my beauty would be celebrated instead of my value being measured by my girth. my mass. my substance. my occupation of space.

beauty should never be empirical.

I wouldn't be a mere sum of my measurements -- like a slab of meat pre-weighed and measured for immediate consumption.

I don't know if finding myself is worth losing myself.

i guess you really wanted something... it just wasn't with me.

A new form of masochism

Focus on the pain.
A dull ache or a deep burn.
Push through the throbbing and concentrate on your next movement.

This has an appealing outcome.
This result is socially acceptable.

The same concept.
A proxy.

We rarely renounce our compulsions.
We simply adapt.

This is new. This is better.
I am new. I am better.