This was supposed to be fun!

(Artwork, critical essay, poem)





This was supposed to be fun!

Good morning to everyone except the ones who say they 'just don't get it'. THERE'S NOTHING TO GET (except there is).

It’s all made up, and even if there were something to get, it’ll change tomorrow.

Pre-set, pre-defined, unforgiving rules to live by to stay pretty and tight! Yeah right. ;)

Mmmm this aggression really accentuates my cheekbones, and my loud mouth is on fleek today!

There’s nothing like a fresh pint of piss to wash the internet down.

If looks could kill.

A nice rod up my arse to start my day well, keep me in check with the other rodded, rotting cunts. 

Might get a quick fix at lunch, naughty me. Another pint of the organic stuff, please. 

The internet is extra rough today.

And here we are again. Ritual humiliation. Who the fuck is that? 

Could it be?

I remember having a face. Now it’s just adaptive camouflage.

Changed hourly depending on who's watching.

Ah but it’s just so thrilling to be endless. 

Face like a software update — patch this, delete that, smooth that texture. 

I'm aging in reverse and forwards at the same time. Some kind of glitching

goddess.

I’m going to go fuck up another upgrade.

It’s heroin chic, no wait it’s body positive

Big tits, no waist, clean skin, wild eyes, tame eyebrows, baby face, porn star. 

Naturallyairbrushed! But unfiltered. Yes! Raw! 

Unique.

And if you were born with a wallet between your legs, they told you to be a provider. A protector. 

A walking wall of suppressed emotion and direct-deposit paychecks. Feeling is a bit too feminine babes, shut up and carry something.

You wanna talk about being a man?

You’ve got the personality of a bank receipt and the libido of a wet sock, but sure, yeah.

"Sounds great, I’ll circle back."

You’ve achieved the dream: emotionally constipated, financially enslaved, and probably one minor inconvenience away from screaming into a decorative pillow.

Your idea of intimacy? Shaving down there, just to feel clean enough to be human.

But congrats!

And while you guys are busy being A or B, we’ve been trapped in the wrong costume at the wrong party for our whole goddamn lives. We’ve never belonged to this shape. The curves, the absence of them, the angles— none of it feels real.

Ten different bodies and none of them were mine. I bought them, borrowed them, begged for them.

They still send me the bill in the form of shame.

You were not built for this.

But I am!!! I’m just in a skin suit you don’t like.

UGH. Don’t you hate it when you think you're doing something right

and realise you couldn’t have been more wrong? 

Yeah

and I'm pretty sure you've been doing it wrong 

and you need surgery to fix that.

What’s that feeling of being in your body and recognising it as home?

and/or

that feeling of deep repulsion coming along? I think I can smell the decay.

Your body is a rotting heap of festering shit and you thought you could wear jeans and nice top.

Creature got you. Your soul's soaking wet, and surprise, there's no towel!

Everyone thinks you look better like this anyway.

Currently loving the sensation of needing to be covered and horizontal under a blanket!!! 

Might as well buy yourself a coffin and get inside it. No one really cares.

Nothing quite so forgiving as darkness.

Sometimes I think if I chop out the bad bits, I’ll find myself at the core. 

But there’s just more of her.

Leaner though, way cuter. She gets told she’s “looking so healthy lately.”

(Digestible) /(Palatable)

A personality with the pulp strained out.

I want to be unseen and worshipped. I want to vanish and be validated for it. 

I want to smash every mirror and still ask if I look okay!!!

This goddamned body. A silly little shell with a label attached.

Isn't it dreamy?

Severe enlightenment.