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Poetry and artwork

[special_issue slug=”body_special_issue” element=”issue_header”][special_issue slug=”body_special_issue” element=”piece_header”]summer in shanghai | Chantelle Schultz

i showered at my friend’s
(my friend who would later grab my chest,
without my consent
(it’s okay because he’s gay))
and across from the shower was a mirror,
full and wide. i did not recognize the body i saw.
this body was not mine.
i felt sick.
and then i remembered,
in the night, someone had crept into my room
and changed my body
with surgical tools, cutting into my flesh
adding things i did not recognize
and sewing me up again
who was it?
i try to remember
i try so hard i forget myself
and eventually, when i come back
i realize that person was me.
or was it you?

my hands | Chantelle Schultz

sometimes i forget
that for more than a year
my hands would shake,
a cup would clatter in my hands,
the foam spilling over.
my hands keep shaking
and i cannot make them stop.
maybe i shouldn’t be trying to make them
maybe i should coax them
soothe them
hold them
love them
these flower petals swaying, dancing
in the wind.

erythro | Chantelle Schultz

i’m in the shower.
this is where i feel safest.
i’ve been here for a very long time,
the water is burning my skin off
and my feet are red
like my father’s.
his feet carried him for decades
before they betrayed him.
i look down
at his feet on my legs.
if i could cut mine off
and give them to him,
i would.

My Heartbeat to YoursSinthusha Kandiah

My Heartbeat to Yours

inverted | Anonymous

The lines on my body reflect the stories of my soul:
A cry for self certainty of my physicality’s permanence.

It must be that
my ribcage that binds my heart and lungs,
And the Body
that binds my spirit,


for why fight against what is fighting for me?

Study of hands

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