You seem like you have a purpose, you want to be seen. Yet when I look at you you’re upset that I gazed. Every piece of you is magnified, every little crease and curve, and I wonder if you are aware of it.
As if you were naked, like clothes didn’t exist at all. I mean, its like throwing meat in a jungle. I see your privates, yet we are a private society. You’re like porn, walking porn, but with the black barcode over the no no spots.
Yoga pants… What are you trying to do here?