Grace Otto

I am in a bruised body.

I observe Christianity through the telescopic lens of time.

I observe  patriarchal systems from my utopia of lesbianism.

They have both bruised me.

I confront their transgressions out of moral necessity anddefend the

bodies I love, my own included. 

​

I listen to others.

I pay mind to the shape of each mouth.

I listen beyond what is spoken, and into the weight of their lulls.

For the price of a breath is the same as a word.

 

I paint my observations and confrontations: cross, and skin, body hair, mouths, vulvas.

I sculpt an abstract discomfort and frustration, flesh, what I see when my eyelids shut.

I am not blinded, but rather, my sight travels in and through my being.

I can see the veins in my eyes, my own swollen uterus, yellow fat, my appendix which I discarded some years ago. 

I see and listen to others and to myself with diligence.

I sit and watch the bruises fade into nothingness.

​