Sometimes, it feels as though my body isn’t my home. It feels like a crappy apartment in a bad neighborhood.

Sometimes, I feel like I shouldn’t unpack, I shouldn’t decorate. I shouldn’t settle because before too long, it’ll be time to move on.

But then I take a step back and notice that the walls are chipped and scuffed. This place needs a fresh coat of paint and a good vacuuming.

And every time I decorate my skin, it’s like repainting a wall, or hanging a poster, or buying a candle.

Because I own these walls. I own this house. I own my body, and these walls are mine to create upon. These walls are mine to splash with every color ever created, or no color at all.

I own my body and I’m finally getting comfortable here. I’m finally settling in. I’m finally making this place my own. I’m finally feeling more like a home than a rental.


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