Oliver Bee

You wish I were in your image. Soft and delicate crevices, but stone and sculpted angles where a stomach and thighs should be.\ You want me to be tender and warm, an ample bosom to fit your desires. What I want is to fit my own gaze. My body, soft in all the wrong places, scars gently outlining where breasts used to be. My body isn’t an object to be