Essays
Reading Body Horror to Accept My Own
There’s a pink scar stretching from my lower lip to the bottom of my chin, where a wakeboard carved my face in two in a freak boating accident the summer I was fifteen. It’s faded now, to the point where people who meet me say they never even noticed it until I pointed it out. In the weeks following the accident, bright blue sutures crawled down my face, drawing the gaze of every person who passed me on the street.