To the rib-and-torso images on Tumblr and the people who like and reblog them
- Do we need to see the bones of women to love them?
- I can see the shadow in the bones in my wrist, and it is neither here nor there. I am full coated in other places, though it all connects.
- But it seems as though the culture wants mostly the jut of pelvis and the cowrie hardness. To claim in image a deheaded, beribbed torso as the ultimate beauty. A smallness of beauty. An isolate, claimable thing.
- If I had ribs that ghosted under the skin, I would not mind. I would know I was my body, and more besides. I would not be an island of bare rock, but everything underneath too. The full, fat eyes and the chapped lips, all of it.
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