1:34 AM
Tonight was the "Gothique" fashion show at the Catwalk Club in Seattle. I modelled for a company called Dark Industry as an Elegant Gothic Lolita in cute black and white jumper. I even got fake bangs under my bonnet. All night I got to play the innocent little girl, charming and raw. It refreshed me, made me happy for a few hours.
In a few months I turn twenty. I mull over this daily, hating it. No longer a teenager? No longer a girl? My master role is that of the Girl. Feral, seductive, flippant, troubled. Damaged. "Mischief in a girl is like salt on meat." I don't want to be a woman. I hate the curve of my pelvis, the heaviness of my breasts. I want to be a clean thing, a foal. I want to be Peter Pan.
I consider surgery. Would scars be better than flesh? I cannot narrow my hips. My skeleton betrays me no matter what I sacrifice. "Learn to love yourself." I despise the idea of loving myself. What a waste of love.
What can I do?
What can I do?