The words men have sent to me are etched into my skin. A group message of men I've slept with, talking about my body, my smell and my appearance. I'm part of the group; I don't contribute to the conversation, but their words sink into me anyway. I can't see myself, my body or my sexuality without them.
The first message has been running circles around my head for years. I’ve let it define me before I give anyone else a chance to. That I’m either sexual or intellectual. That I can’t be both. What happened to my head? Why is it so influenced by the words of one man? And where can I hide it (my head), so I can be considered as a sexual being, too?

Show title #43, 'What happened to my head?', by Stefan Brüggemann

More projects