Skin and bones

i am constantly fascinated by the body. most of my essays are about the symbolic and literal functions of the body in literature. i love designing clothes and understanding how a garment mediates between the body and its surroundings. but i find it especially laughable when someone compliments me on my body. i'm not entirely comfortable with my body. my sexuality is something that was conferred upon me, without my full consent. almost like an object, a spectacle, a key aspect of a performative identity, something i'm not in full control of. the physical world eludes me. the body as a concrete representation of one's self is therefore something that equally befuddles me. i realized this when you held me, the tingling touch, my mind fights against it.