I would rather be dirty.
I want to be touched, not untouchable;
I want to be moved, not unmoving;
To be marred, soiled, and aged by life and celebrate each blemish;
Each marks a story of being human(e) and being alive.
When did we start calling soil "dirt", like a contaminated word, and forget the joy of being dirty?
I wonder how society would be different if we have models who are imperfect, if we celebrate maturity and depth instead of unblemished sweethearts and sterilized vessels.
Member discussion