self-portrait challenge: absurd.1

{the classic bruised-knee look}



From the time we pull our first lungful of atmosphere, society sets to work conditioning our wee brains to properly esteem physical beauty.



My skin is a decoupage of bruises, calluses, jagged scars. The antithesis of airbrushed American flawlessness.

But personally? I prefer my look over the plastic people in magazines. Every purpled contusion and blemish is proof that I've attempted greatness, that I have both failed and triumphed with gusto. That I've sought treasures worth the pain.

That I've lived, and am living still.





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