I’m growing out my armpit hair. The inspiration first coming from hipster feminists flaunting their own under arm locks in artsy tumblr photos. My initial reaction of “ooohhh how provocative” turned quickly to “I have armpit hair. I have no idea what it looks like.” From the first moment of it budding, I immediately began the ritual of chopping it off, and have continued to do so with more consistency than flossing.
I suddenly began to feel sadness for all the prickly pieces that have washed down my drain with no second thought. We mourn the loss of hair on our heads in the aftermath of an undesirable haircut, but the tufts of hair hidden under a woman’s arms is vulgar to us. I have already begun to hide my stubble in long sleeve shirts and think more purposefully about the exposure of this small patch of flesh that I have hitherto flaunted with reckless abandon.
In my quest to be the best me I can, I feel it is imperative to explore even the most inconsequential parts of whoever that may be.
The seedy Underarm
Just a Little Bit Fat 
Your journey is one of a Medieval Knight, sans armor. Your vision is one of a child peeking from behind an easy chair, whose old soul fixes her eyes on the adults who waste time in merry nothingness. Your voice pulls me in as a close confidant, whispering how you shall leap off the tallest mountain should your words fill not a wanderer’s heart. I am tamed momentarily by you and how you force me to pause and reckon your evolution–oh how you attempt to press the fast-forward button in that quest. I chuckle when life decides on the speed, making you flop your furry head between your limbs–indeed you are a big dog. Yes, a big dog that allows the Chihuahua to bark incessantly as you try to mindfuck him into submission–knowing a takedown would only make you cry. You. Are. A. Human. Guitar. Trying to play yourself, when soon you shall be played by a maestro. I’m along, aside, akin your spirit. Be more free.
LikeLike