Fucking Body Image

I am a strong liberator of a female's body image. I say female because age has everything to do with it. No matter if they are three months old to a century, I care what a woman thinks of her body. Right down to the slightest imperfection such as a freckle in the wrong place.

See, image is everything for a society that places so much on what catches the eye.

But that's the problem: Catching the eyes.

The media tries very hard to draw our eyes to their ads, all trying different techniques. That's right, different. Yet the same. They're all bright, shiny, blinking, yelling, snarky, and sometimes (very rarely) unique. The underlying theme here is to see that it's all a cover-up. To cover-up the real product that normally isn't good at all. It's all a show to make money, to make what they want in life - to be rich and famous.
Which, those terms can be applied loosely.

Rich and famous say false happiness and attention.

That's all they ever want under all the make-up, the growling stomachs, the quickly aging bodies that can't keep up with their appearances. It all falls apart. Like food rots, like seasons change, like the dirt loses vitamins, like Pluto isn't a fucking planet anymore. It is all dispensable, all fucking wasting away until it's forgotten under centuries of the new image females are to live by.

And who set these standards? Who placed this useless pressure on strictly women to look a certain way?

It's just like the Master asking his slave to walk around naked in his presence.

Why do women submit to this pressure? Why do we feel guilty for not resembling, excuse me, for not being one certain image for a gender that obviously has no idea how a human body works. They're the ones leading science, telling us what we should and should not eat on a grocer's shelves. You tell me why the same gender who were so innovative back in the day because women hardly had the right to co-live alongside them are so hard on us?

Let me tell you, females, STOP HATING YOURSELF. Each female is beautiful in many different ways. We are all dimensional. We are just made to feel bad for the functions of said body.
I refuse anymore to feel bad because I am not pleasing passersby.
I refuse to feel bad because a person hates how I look.
Is one person to sit there and feel depressed because a stranger who knows nothing about their past life or who they are? They know nothing of how wonderful a person you are, how you take in friends, how you high five after dorky jokes, how your hair is naturally straight, how you help anyone when they ask, how you have a loving, but smartassey husband, how you love penguins to a freakish point, how you love practically anything purple, how you love cupcakes, how you love heels and socks, how you can't cook, how you have cloaks and dresses, how you go to nerdy festivals, and how you love everyone.
I fucking hate when you don't feel good enough to have someone see your face.
People love you and those people know you.
No one with you right now is judging you on what catches their eye because you're not fake.
You are a genuine person.

This blog is dedicated to Fallon who posted this.