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i.
This is an exit
wound. This is your
butcher’s blade blunted
by naivety and the way
light floats atop
the surface, too polite
to settle.
ii.
This is a fence painted white.
iii.
From now on, I will be the stain on your wall that moves when you are not looking. I will walk like I am stepping on membranes fit to burst. I will forget that I would rather be corrosive than your girl in the sand.
iv.
A crack no longer hairline at last splits –
v.
– the remains of a pomegranate,
browning.
vi.
You squeeze my
calf and you know that I am
real when the flesh moves
away from under
your fingers.
vii.
This is writhing. This is
writing. This is
something I wish I could do
without cringing.
viii.
This is me telling you
I am thrumming
with seeds still green.
Charlotte Zhang is an aspiring filmmaker and artist from Vancouver Island and the product of Chinese immigrants. Her body of work mainly deals with race, sexuality, and identity. She is a recent high school graduate who will be attending California Institute of the Arts in the fall.
Art by Jennifer Ku
1 comment
Charlotte Zhang is a brilliant writer, and it can be seen here. A lot of my friends don’t know about her, so I am going to tell them about her. They will be pleased to know about her, I am sure.