I Remember What It’s Like to Somersault, To Bend without Breaking

I started painting with my feet when a neck injury temporarily prevented me from using my hands. My body is decomposing quicker than I can write down the recipe to reverse it. I never want to stop falling in love: with people, places, the mundane and ordinary, but even more so with what’s left of my broken body and shattered heart, and all the ways that they can be reorganized into a mosaic of everything tomorrow can still be. With paint on my feet, I document it permanently.

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