the material doesnt feel right on my body
i can feel that i have a body and i dont like that
i am rearranging my shoulders and the position of my ribcage and tucking in my stomach and i feel repulsed by these sensations
i think the regular exposure of my body to another’s helped me put it into context but now it just exists on its own again
when i am in front of the mirror i dont see his body around mine, i just see flesh in solitude and it looks too bare
i have too much skin when no one is touching it
i dont know how to look after it and keep it all in check when there is no one but me who sees it
so then i begin to resent its constant presence and so getting ready starts to take longer again
everything i put on to cover my body just draws attention to another thing that doesn’t look right to me
but i will be late so i just have to hold this gnawing feeling of disgust throughout the day until i come home and i can encase myself again
i go to sleep , enjoying the weight of the duvet as it separates my head from any thought of what is below

i am here
and it is not as if you do not know
but somehow i am more here than you are there

your eyes are wide and seem to have endless space
but somehow not for me
i can’t quite fit

perhaps there is too much of me
too much flesh or too many feelings

i sometimes wonder if i’ll ever fit

walking down the stairs in the blavatnik building of tate modern with la valse à mille temps reverberating through the canals of my ears and brain is a wonderful sensation
that sweet combination of solitude amongst visual and audible stimuli, familiarity with a site populated by strangers, and a cigarette smoked while warm sunlight bathed my face and wrapped me up in a towel after
the world can be okay even when things feel like they’ll never be okay

she knew by the way he stood
and how words left his mouth
and the slow movement of his eyelids
that she wasn’t seen
she was an outline of a woman
that ticked those stupid boxes
because apparently to be small and blonde is to be beautiful
and to be able to ‘pull off’ short hair was a great achievement
and to have eyes that could be described as green in direct sunlight was another tick.
she was a gentle voice to answer and ask him questions
as he endlessly expands on subjects she doesn’t care about
but she would try to get that smile from him
that makes her feel as though she’s done something right
the smile which connects to the eyes above.
it feels so truthful in that moment
until she steps outside of herself again
and sees that she is being looked at by him, but not seen

she knew by the way she stood
and how words left her mouth
and the movement of her eyelids
that she was being seen
and not just as her outline
she wanted to see behind the eyes
through all the twists and turns in the brain
the electricity of the nerve endings
and the chemicals that flowed when she was talking about something she cared about
she didn’t have to perform
or tick boxes
because they both saw themselves seeing eachother
it wasn’t she and him but she and her