Blogtember #6: I Don’t Care

From the moment she saw me like this, her face crumpled into a grimace of disgust.  Whispering tersely into her companion’s ear while glaring at me, they inched through the crowded train to be further away from me.  She had seen the bandage covering the second half of my fresh tattoo, and she wanted nothing to do with me.

And I didn’t care.
Up
until then, I’d always been the “nice girl,” the girl who doesn’t want
to offend, the girl who dances carefully around everyone’s feelings.
 The girl who wants to please everyone – friends, lovers, family, even
strangers on a train – regardless of what she wants.  With that final
indelible mark, I had become the Bad Girl.  Who does what she wants.
 Who makes her own rules.  Who lifts a gleeful middle finger to
society’s expectations for me.
And I didn’t care.
I had
acheived body autonomy.  I indulged a long-standing desire.  I had
started to become the type of girl I had always ogled with envy.  I had
forever changed the way I would be viewed by strangers.

And I didn’t care.

I couldn’t comprehend what was going through her mind.  I felt strong, powerful, proud, and beautiful.  I felt like I was living by my rules and not by hers.  She didn’t like that very much.

And for the first time ever, I didn’t care.



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