Secure, insecure
I am a bold 21st century woman.
I look in the mirror and I see strength and confidence and beauty in every line, every curve, every inch of my body.
I know my worth, my power. I am comfortable in my sexuality and in my body.
A fierce leopard aware and ready.
I don’t sit back and let things happen, I take charge.
I see what I want and I go for it - I make the first move.
Not your timid hellos or empty flattery - a challenge.
Come talk with me, I said.
Let’s see if our weird matches, I teased.
Challenge accepted!
Bold, confident I show you me. I tell you what I want and you deliver.
When I think about you, as I run my fingers over the memories of our last night together, a smile plays at my lips at the thought of your hands on my body.
Your teeth. Your fingers. Sigh... the decadent silky feel of the blanket we cuddle under after.
Seeing you fills me with happiness and pleasure.
But still, I wonder.
I wonder if you can see beneath the surface yet and what will happen when you do.
Because that bold 21st century woman is also her very worst critic.
Anything anyone has ever said has been absorbed, digested, chewed over, and debated.
For every time I reassure myself that I am strong, I will shred into myself 10 times over, chipping away that hard faked confident veneer I so desperately cling to.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I hate the woman I see. I look at my face, it’s sunken eyes with deep circles, it’s pale skin and freckles, it’s slightly humped nose from when that man broke it in 7th grade, it’s scars over the eyebrows, it’s flaws. I see a woman who has let herself go and gained weight even though I swore I wouldn't. I see the me beneath the confident mask and I wonder what the hell he sees in me.
Why is he with me? Will this outlast the quarantine? Does he actually want me? What game is going here?
I evaluate every lengthy silence, every evasion of a question, every pause. What does this mean? Am I being too clingy? I should back off - I go silent. I won’t text again until you text me back. I won’t text you right away. I’ll wait.
You respond, my heart flutters. My stomach flips. And still I wonder - why me?
How can I be so secure yet so absolutely insecure?
Such a dichotomy should not exist in one body, yet here I am!
A beautiful contradiction.
Secure, insecure.
I look in the mirror and I see strength and confidence and beauty in every line, every curve, every inch of my body.
I know my worth, my power. I am comfortable in my sexuality and in my body.
A fierce leopard aware and ready.
I don’t sit back and let things happen, I take charge.
I see what I want and I go for it - I make the first move.
Not your timid hellos or empty flattery - a challenge.
Come talk with me, I said.
Let’s see if our weird matches, I teased.
Challenge accepted!
Bold, confident I show you me. I tell you what I want and you deliver.
When I think about you, as I run my fingers over the memories of our last night together, a smile plays at my lips at the thought of your hands on my body.
Your teeth. Your fingers. Sigh... the decadent silky feel of the blanket we cuddle under after.
Seeing you fills me with happiness and pleasure.
But still, I wonder.
I wonder if you can see beneath the surface yet and what will happen when you do.
Because that bold 21st century woman is also her very worst critic.
Anything anyone has ever said has been absorbed, digested, chewed over, and debated.
For every time I reassure myself that I am strong, I will shred into myself 10 times over, chipping away that hard faked confident veneer I so desperately cling to.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I hate the woman I see. I look at my face, it’s sunken eyes with deep circles, it’s pale skin and freckles, it’s slightly humped nose from when that man broke it in 7th grade, it’s scars over the eyebrows, it’s flaws. I see a woman who has let herself go and gained weight even though I swore I wouldn't. I see the me beneath the confident mask and I wonder what the hell he sees in me.
Why is he with me? Will this outlast the quarantine? Does he actually want me? What game is going here?
I evaluate every lengthy silence, every evasion of a question, every pause. What does this mean? Am I being too clingy? I should back off - I go silent. I won’t text again until you text me back. I won’t text you right away. I’ll wait.
You respond, my heart flutters. My stomach flips. And still I wonder - why me?
How can I be so secure yet so absolutely insecure?
Such a dichotomy should not exist in one body, yet here I am!
A beautiful contradiction.
Secure, insecure.
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