Shattered Threads
On March 20 2025, I had my first ever surgery in my life, a part of me was removed to prevent Cancer. Before the surgery a billion of fears occupied my mind, and made me numb, I almost quit, but no, it all went well that far, the first day the bandages were removed I was shocked, my body wasnt the same, the part missing so loved and hated at the same time, I had to exorsize the feeling of loss and the fear of the next steps wich are still ahead. This poem came out like a tear and a cry, a goodbye and a welcome to my new situation.
I leave it here as a memory and a reminder to all to care for our health.
Shattered Threads
There is a hollow where flesh used to speak, torn open in the way a shadow forgets the sun. A cut, a whisper, a rhythm lost between skin and bone. A headless truth spins, no neck to hold its weight, just fragments of memory, too broken to name. The body breathes without a body, the pulse now a ghost in the fracture. I tell myself— this wound is not a wound. It is a canvas, waiting to be painted in the blood of what could have been. The breast, reduced, will bloom in another form. I feel the strange belief that the needle will not reveal what it has no claim to, but the space where it was will scream new worlds into silence, and I will turn its ruin into the language of light.
Christina Savvatianou March 25, 2025
video created from a manually edited photograph of mine, moshed with photomosh and music with the assistance of Mubert Ai