Immutable

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I run it ragged, this body that’s only ever seemed to weigh me down.

Photo by Tara Glaser on Unsplash


A physical form too immutable for my tastes, filled with unexpected betrayals i never asked for, and never wanted.

I use it hard, the way I do my computers, because somewhere at the back of my mind I shrug and think, “Hey, I’ll get another one or something.”


I resent it for demanding so much and giving so little. I resent it for the hallmarks of womanhood that have blazed barriers in my path my whole life. I resent it for not even being able to touch my toes. I resent it for bringing with it the kind of beauty that’s neither commanding nor delicate, only just

pleasant enough to arouse a passing interest that’s easily forgotten. 


I resent it for being too visible and too invisible. I resent it for I’ve never known what to do with it."Why," I want to ask it. "Why are you always in my way? Giving me away, bringing me down, with your drowsiness and your games, your half beauty and your half strength."

"Why," I want to ask, "are you so tangible, so heavy, so unchangeable except in all the wrong ways? Is it your fault that I am unloved, or is it mine? Perhaps that blame is a shared burden, and perhaps you resent me just as much as I resent you."

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