This piece was written in hopes of spreading knowledge of contemporary Asian culture and to educate those who were previously unfamiliar. "Blinded by the Sole" focuses on the hardships endured by the women of ancient China to comply with society's beauty standards. https://www.instagram.com/jxllxjxx/ To be mangled physically, and binded spiritually, the contortment of the physiology of what we considered a woman. To be considered a beauty in the Ming Dynasty, put on top of a pedestal, as she stands there in pain from her mangled metatarsals. Urging to be free, as her feet burst from her unfit soles, running away as blood trails on the gravel behind her, while the elders shout from a distance in disgust. The suitors that her parents have matched her for, have run away on horseback, back to their kingdom to find another bride. She has been set free, however, all alone. As she runs away to a local doctor asking for aid, and is given tea with ginger and corydalis for pain. Set to lay on her stomach as the doctor pricks her skin with needles allowing the pain to alleviate from certain pressure points. Crying from happiness, as well as agony, knowing she will never be viewed the same back at her village, as well as disowned by her parents, never to set foot in their house again. Her tarsals all the way down to her phalanges, mutilated and distorted, forever walking in discomfort, as cartilage scrapes down to the bone, and considered a disgrace to the village elders. "Was it even worth it? Should I just have endured the pain?" She asks, as she stares into the cold dark sky. The arches of her feet appear to be nonexistent, as she walks in normal slippers for the first time since she was a toddler, wobbling and waddling around the streets of the night, where she cannot be seen. Where all you can picture is a gleeful silhouette skipping, twirling, and swinging her arms in and out, in the midnight blue sky. Note: The practice of shoe binding started in the Song Dynasty (960-1272) as a way to "up-lift women to the beauty standard of China in the 10th century. This was a very painful process started at a young age for girls, which anatomically changed the feet to appear dainty. Only high status women participated in this, since the shoes were very expensive for its time.

I am not hers and I am not his my body is mine to destroy and no one else's to touch I don't want to be t o u c h e d and I don't want to be seen I want to melt into the floor and the walls and I want my fingers to dissolve and my brain to bake on the concrete like a roast chicken and I don't want to be touched please don't look at me like that because how can I tell you that I can't stand the feeling of your fingers on my skin when you look at me like that? this skin is mine and - no, no please I'm begging you let go, let go or I will have nothing left but a roast chicken brain and who would want that?

I'm peeling my eyes open, but that's futile; I'll eventually close my eyes, and the human desire to stop immediate pain will inevitably override my fear. My blank expression shows I'm aware of this, but I try to stay awake for a second longer.

When everyone wept, my face remained bare. People in shock, still in pain Grieving the child that was lost that day. A numb state of mind Beats the agonizing pain. To me the day was ordinary, it was all the same Insanity running vulgar with not one person to blame. But, might I ask... What do you see when you look at me ? Nappy? Ignorant ? Ghetto ? a Gangster ? an Enemy ?— Reckless ?! Im a nigg— Back, BOP! Back, BOP! Head, SHOT! Back, BOP! He got SHOT— We a target ? You got us by a string and never let go. And inch us on so we won’t feel the string As if we’re free Get too comfortable, so you snatch us back. Take back control. So we wear a white tee and jeans So it’s easier to see the blood runnin’ down the seam For only the court to deem “not guilty” I surrendered a long time ago Our fate was written in stone. As I wait, I wear a white tee every day Just enough to become a tired cliche.

Hope is something that connects us with each other. We all connected in some way with one another, just like a hope.

These pieces aimed to encapsulate the feeling of pain that sinks below the outer shell of our skin and into the flesh. As such, my two paintings are deeply personal.

The experience of psychosis and losing your sense of self.

Author Pronouns: She/Her

https://www.instagram.com/galaxy.janna?hl=en

I made Blooming Pains with the thought of my identity. Being of Gujarati and Mexican descent I often struggled with blooming into the person that I am. Growth hurts, but it's a beautiful experience that gives life meaning; no fear should stop growth. https://chimi.bvm/