Hiding
is
revealing.
A concealment
of identity,
a vessel
for expression.
—DOPE EDIT WORLD
Every Day Until the Real Thing
I die in stops. Light bleeds onto her skin, each stop more haunting than her past.
I die between the click of the shutter, between my word and the breath it rode in on. I die when the file exports, when the myth I made forgets my mask.
They call this truth; I know artifice.
Each morning I crawl back into skin that doesn’t fit, cut new seams, call it vision. Each night I peel it off, and curdle its blood.
The art is the breath I counterfeit. Every image, every word: a small, exquisite funeral. A performance for the heartless.
I die every day until the real thing. And when it comes, I hope it looks like my work, unfinished, but beautiful enough to make someone live.
(And she realizes she still is.)
beLIEve and BETWEEN you
#baby
