The betrayal

So I followed him to the river

where he painted my portrait.

Each stroke outlining every inch of my body.

I lay bare, outstretched on the canvas.

Once he had me there, I was fixed.

Unchangeable.

Controlled.

The colours melted into one another.

Bleached. Frozen.

I am what I am.

And I am no lesser of a man.

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About Alana Mitchelson

Alana Mitchelson is a journalist based in Melbourne, Australia. Follow her on Twitter at @AlanaMitchelson.

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