Unwrapping the towel I'm holding that's covering up my skin,
letting it fall to the ground where I'll soon lay out,
all while looking up. These eyes are tired of looking to the ground in shame.
Hands lay still because I stop pulling up my suit every 3 seconds,
wow—is this what life is like when you stop fixating on the normalcy of skin?
Grabbing for those chips, because #chips.
Sorry diet, wait, actually I'm not.
One last goodbye,
to the extremes I taught myself were fact,
to the voice that say's "you're not bikini ready enough, pretty enough, thin enough"
I say softly back to that voice,
bitch—you don't know my life.