Portrait of a Girl Through a Filter

Ana Carpenter

Chicago, IL

Walter Payton College Prep

Poetry

I lie with my legs spread on a

silver piano balancing my heart

between my knees. the blood trickles

down my skin and drips onto my

toes. don’t I look beautiful today?

my mind squeezes into dust as the

piano roars and somewhere in the

world a mirror shatters. there is a

shard of glass for every time I have

cried and for every musical note in

the world. like dust they fly over me

and perch themselves on my open

body drawing out whatever blood

is left until I am gutted and drained.

I do not think about how my

antibodies fill champagne glasses or

how my organs dangle from the

chandelier or how my exposed body

is the centerpiece of a dead banquet.

they wanted me and they will have

it. we will feast on flesh tonight.

EDITORIAL PRAISE

The reoccurring symbol of the human body gives off hollow and inhumane vibes, which fit the purpose of this piece very well as often times, on social media, inhumane and too-perfect-to-be-true people are shown and worshiped as the beauty standard. "Portrait of a Girl Through a Filter" makes me feel like I'm getting sucker punched repeatedly in the best way possible.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ana Carpenter is a sophomore (Class of 2022) at Walter Payton College Prep in Chicago, Illinois. Her work has appeared in Rare Byrd Review as well as other small anthologies and magazines. When she's not writing, she can be found reading, exploring new places, and shamelessly defending the YA genre

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