WOMEN & WETNESS
When I was fifteen, I used to wear the heaviest antiperspirant I could find. I sweat a lot. I wasn’t supposed to sweat a lot, because: girl. I wasn’t supposed to spit either, because: girl. I wasn’t meant to be wet at all. I was supposed to be matte and dry, tidy and fresh.
The problem was that I was totally wet. I was sweaty AF. I spit sometimes. My skin got greasy. My crotch was moist. My body was doing all the wrong things. I tried to stay dry but I couldn’t. The Ocean Breeze Secret didn’t work. The oil blotting papers didn’t work. The pantyliners didn’t work. The sea was inside of me trying to escape.
The wetness, the waters of the sacral chakra - the seat of creativity and sensuality - were flowing inside of me. I didn’t know then that this was my vital essence. My superpower. My ocean storm within.
Instead, I tried to dry it up. But those tides couldn’t be quelled. And thank fuck for that. Now, I rain and drip and glisten and flow. I won’t dry up these sacred waters any longer. I’ll be as wet as I wanna be. Sometimes wetter. 📷 by Prue Stent