moon theater: • beastie •
every woman is a choir of shadows singing about the light. The form of survival.
Its roots grow in silence embedded in the body. It is sharp not out of malice — but because pain has its own language. This is memory that refuses to let go, a reminder of who you were before you knew fear.
The form of love. It flies into the light that will destroy it — because only there lies something real. It never asks “why,” because its body is a prayer. This is tenderness choosing to burn rather than remain untouched.
The form of transformation. Its skin is an archive of wounds. Its gaze — wordless, but not without knowing. It understands that metamorphosis is not an event, but a state of being. This is the stillness after the storm, the breath after pain, the life after life.
beastie — a self-portrait made of myths. A woman who exists in multiplicity. Archetypes come alive in every frame, in every movement of the camera, in every shadow that brushes her skin. This is not an image — it is a presence.
I am not one woman. I am all I have ever been, and all I have yet to become.
minted specially for #womenbywomen event
