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Shrivel (Rise of the Eldrazi) - Jung Park

More cards with art by Jung Park on Scryfall

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #jung park #shrivel #rise of the eldrazi

Shrivel

"Do not weep for the frail. Their time couldn't have been that far off." —Nathrac, plaguesower

Artist: Jung Park

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #art #jung park #shrivel #magic 2014

Immersion.

Is it better to drown in the waters or shrivel in the sands?

Snap back to reality; all rings hollow without the feeling.

#poetry #poem #my poem #my writing #writing #my words #words #spilled words #ramblebrambleamble #immersion #drown #water #shrivel #sand #reality #hollow #feeling

I was 9 years old when I noticed that my tiny waist collapsed into dough rolls when I sat down. I did not know that this was normal. I had only allowed my body to be equated with Barbie dolls, and plastic doesn’t spill over when it sits down. I looked down and cried. I was not supposed to be this way. My family consisted of gym buffs and beach bodies, how on earth could this be happening? My mom came in the room, angered by the tears running down my face (a couple years later, I would completely stop crying in front of people because I learned sadness is not to be shared). She asked me what on earth my excuse for crying was this time and I pointed down at my stomach. I didn’t need to say much; it seemed that the tears said it all. She looked at me and said “Well then maybe you should work a little harder. I’m sick of the complaining.” My mom has a thing about dismissing my concerns and never actually explaining to me what’s going on and why I don’t need to stress. I was 11 years old when my mom finally stopped prohibiting me from wearing skinny jeans. She would not let me because I was “too stalky” and we had to wait until I was more feminine. I learned to be okay with it and then the day came when she said “You’re skinny enough now. Go try these on!” She shoved a pair of skinny jeans in my arms and I reluctantly put them on. I did not like the way they compacted my legs like hot dogs in packaging. My mom said I looked great. I didn’t really give a shit how I looked, I felt like I was wearing a costume. I said I didn’t want them. My mom said that was ridiculous and put them on the checkout counter. I was finally skinny enough to be paraded around like a Prada bag she had been saving up her whole life for. I was 12 years old when I grew out of a dress that I had fit into 6 months prior. My mom yelled at me that this was ridiculous. Who did I think I was? What right did I have to take up more space than what she had allotted me? I went on 4 different diets at the same time and I dropped myself down 4 pounds and my parents finally weren’t ashamed of me anymore. I’m gonna tell you a little secret, I could barely breathe in that dress and it fucked up my chest for a little while. I was 14 years old when I got my first couple dots of cellulite. My mom had told me cellulite was reserved for fat people and if you just work enough, you won’t have any. I pointed out the two small dimples on my thigh and she looked at me like I was a foreign object. “And all this time I thought you got your legs from me. You must’ve gotten them from your father. I don’t have any of that.” I frowned upon my own legs. Why is this not working? So I ran more and worked out harder and lost all my worries in the wind when I ran. The dimples never went away. The saga of my shriveling, a story of no matter how in shape I become, no matter how small my waistline is, until I dissolve into the sand from an hourglass figure, my parents will always want me to keep shriveling. But I don’t need to shrivel to be acceptable. We are beautiful and wonderful, and shriveling is no fun.

the background of the saga of my shriveling