Personal Narrative: Kemisa

“Respect your body, Kemisa, as your body is your temple.” I’m a 15 year old girl with more insecurities than my fingers can count and this temple, in which the essence of my being lies has been torn apart, burned, and vandalized. I can have no respect for this so called sacred place because the foundations are broken by Dior ads and Victoria Secret models. This temple is more of a prison. Its these godly looking women with porcelain skin, and perfectly placed ribs that have taught me to exhale less, to hold in my stomach, and to not eat too much in public, to skip dinner on days I know I had a big lunch, to convince my self the the lettuce on my plate will suffice, to only take pictures in bright sunlight so my skin doesn 't look to dark.

I know when i look pretty, it’s the days where creepy men stare and teenage boys prompt you to “shake that ass”, the days when my neighbors (look) with ghastly expressions because i have “too much skin” showing, when i’ve covered every distinct feature of my face with my mothers most expensive makeup. It’s the days after the nights I remember to skip dinner because i know i had a big lunch.

I am one of the many 15 year old girls with more insecurities than our fingers can count, than the cat callers can see. Because high expectations follow us

My body is my temple but I can 't respect it, my body is my temple but i can 't worship in it, my body is my temple but i can 't love it because every night my father laughs at me and tells me i eat to much, because i have list in my bedroom about all the things i hate about myself that are long enough to write a really long chapter, because of the way i choke up whenever someone ask me to list ten things i love about myself and the only word i can think of is one shitty adjective: nice, because i hurt when someone points out the things that make me ugly, because the teacher, my parents, and my friends don’t notice that I 'm hurting because someone pointed out the things that make