Writing by Richa Gupta // Photograph by Catarina Inacio
we may not have dragon tattoos. but
we are all still perfect victims. slight, hair
curling down our backs, toes twitching
confusedly. feminine. some have liquor running
through their veins, others wake up in
their beds and see a monster meandering about.
or as they walk down the street, clutching a cloth
bag, a hundred feet from home. wide-eyed.
you are a doll. their eyes say, let me pull
your lining apart. strands of thread come loose,
colors blend into one, black. always black, warm,
sticky, darkness. empty vessels, always. for we
are perfect victims. if we speak, we hurt, if we
stand, we risk getting blood everywhere.
we may not have dragon tattoos, we
are not salandar with ink artfully injected
in our flesh, but. I speak with pain, we
are vulnerable by birth.
the one time I do not strive for
perfection. in victimization.[share]