i wish i could blend my words as well as my colored pencils. i wish my obsession with my reflection manifested in self love, rather than the endless need to create an indefinite series of portraits of my naked body.
the absolute narcissism of opening my sketchbook to me, true blue and poppy red. the absolute narcissism of displaying the two molds of my left boob in my bedroom doorway. the absolute narcissism of someone with three mirrors on the same wall.
and still! i can’t recognize the face and body that fluctautes the longer i stare.
please look at me! i can’t look at myself!