My body breaks,
it shatters into millions of pieces.
I carry the voices,
the screams,
the whispers,
the beggings,
of all the women who came before me.
I, too, feel their pain,
deep in my skin,
it goes through the flesh,
and reaches my bones.
Cold, it crushes me.
The pain lingers,
in the dark rooms of our bodies
it fades,
it withers and then stops,
leaving only remnants of suffering.
In its place
anything ugly
is transformed
to strength
and courage.
It breathes survival.
And the flowers in our heads
blossom,
out of coal and ash,
our saliva becomes sugar between our tongue,
washing over the bitterness in our mouths
and we swallow
all the false masculinity,
or whatever is left from it.
We are one.
Our bodies connect
through hundreds of years of abuse.
The pain in our bodies,
now a tree
with deep strong roots,
is capable of defeating anything.
Our mouths make sounds
as last!
they move,
they vibrate,
they tell the stories of pain.
Our voices create waves and waves and waves
of endless vibrations,
weaving webs of strong fibers,
ready to catch a sister who might fall.
Our voices are the voices of truth and pain,
and all that’s in between.
Our voices are strong,
they finally echo.
[I cry with them too]
21.10.2018
Photo: Nikon F75 (35-70mm). Kodak Ultra Max 400, 35mm film. Warns, Friesland, the Netherlands, July 2020.