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I was shedding, always shedding. I shed my skin and leave it wherever it be. I despise this body. It’s ugly and grotesque and imperfect and hideous and all the bad descriptions one could come up with. I abhor myself. I’m disgusting. So, I shed.

I put on a skin I bought after seeing it in a TV commercial. They said it will make you pretty; people will like you. They said it is what should be. But it doesn’t last. My true skin will show up again. Every time, a few changes, good but never better. So, I shed it again. Flaking it piece by piece. It is excruciating. It is awful. I shed it until my body can’t bear the pain anymore.

I am dying. I decided to go to the museum. At least to see something beautiful before I go. I put on my mask and hoodie. There, I saw beautiful masterpieces indeed. Paintings, photographs, poetry.

A stranger came to me and introduced himself as the owner.

“Aren’t they marvelous?” he asked.

I smiled behind my mask, “Yes, every one of them is beautifully crafted.”

Deeper inside, I was dying of envy. Why am I made like this? Why can’t I be like them?

I was surprised by the words he said next. “Of course, darling. Everyone one of them was made out of you. These are all you.”


About the Creative

"I love anime. I have a fetish for socks. If you see me, run." - Hiromi-san Banner art by Dale Magsino

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