Don’t Tell Me It’s a Phase

My brain unsettled. A cloud of confusion pressurises my skull, threatening to blow my head off. Spikes of doubt stab at my psyche. Scatting my brain, bleeding horror onto my soul. Taboo thoughts dance across my conscience leaving scars of culpability, things forbidden to this intransigent society. My skin feels all at once, too tight, too loose, and too rough. Uncomfort ignites my marrow, propelling me to get as far away as I can but you cannot get away from the force of your compunction. Such ideals that are enforced by society. But Society lies, it had gnarled the truth, deformed it to the point of unrecognizability because they despise what they do not understand. They fill my world with anxiety because they cannot perceive life outside their exiguous existence. Because my precarious reality is too much for their feeble mentality to comprehend.

When I see her my skin ignites with itchy fire. Flaming red blooms across my surface. My stomach squirms uncomfortably in my midriff. The lungs in my quivering ribcage momentarily forget what and where they are. The ground beneath my feet waivers, allowing them to lose their footing, if not for the chair beneath me I would surely fall. Bowing in shame, my head suddenly feels heavy. As she saunters past me, her hips sway to the beat of a rhythm only her heart can hear. Legs sweep beneath her, gliding over the land below her. Chin tilted to the sky, as though all else is inferior to her. Eyes never wavering from a goal unbeknown to all but her, shockingly blue and as clear and pure as the heart of an angel. The skin so lovingly draped on her by the hands of the lord, had not a blemish, and looked silky to touch.

The mind that yearns to feel her touch has been caged by the bigoted tyrants of society. Such ignorant authoritarians as to suppress the self of a young girl. Told that she is wrong, and does not feel what she feels, invalidating her mind to naught but dust in the wind. They have attempted to brainwash her to accept that she is not yet a full person, but rather a puppet controlled by her juvenile impulses. That such things are fleeting, and unimportant. But the foundation is being laid for who she will become, she is crafting the legs she will stand on for life. Consequently, if you tell her that the legs she is beginning to stand on do not exist, she will fall.

Respond now!