von Nadja Kracunovic

Dear lovers, I urge you to listen to me while I speak my mother tongues.

I wrote letters. I fell ill. I migrated, lost homes and immunities, found souls, multiplied, monologued, and screamed at every single stone I stepped on.

I am a wounded princess. I am a woman with a spider face. I am a woman with a burning crown. I am a woman with a needle skin.

I clean my throat – I begin again. It is my duty to spill some words forth, and then, I silence, and I begin again.

Once upon a time, this body announced a war with itself.
Nekada davno, moje telo je proglasilo rat, sa samim sobom.

This letter is for you, medical gods, settlers, oppressors, administrators, collectors, rebels, soldiers, performers, artists, gentlemen, lovers, and the first row of the civil society. For all my sisters, I perform masculinity.

I am an opera, you are a riot. I am a mermaid, you are my applause.

Dear lovers, I am preoccupied with this body – the body of a wounded princess.
The body that speaks, performs, makes love to the mountains, combs the longest hair, enters the rivers, and speaks multiple tongues.

Once upon a time, this body was abled, immortal, ready, always first in everything.
I was a single daughter of a single queen. I was the oldest child and the oldest grandchild. I was the oldest among the oldest, but not the wisest, nor whitest.

My mother has only one daughter.
My father made two sons.
My mother has only one daughter. My father has two sons.
Moja majka je rodila samo jednu ćerku. Moj otac je napravio dva sina.
Moja majka je rodila samo jednu ćerku. 

Once upon a time, I was a single daughter. Cerka jedinica.
Ja imam dve majke i nekoliko očeva. I have two mothers and a few fathers.
Mene su odgajale dve boginje. Two goddesses took care of me. 

Dear lovers, once, I experienced a thousand small deaths. I watched and waited as they settled in my skin. I am a wounded princess. I am a woman with a spider face.
I am a woman with a burning crown. I am a woman with a needle skin.

Dear lovers, here is a noble story for you.

Once upon a time, I was a red princess who lived too much. My kingdom was full of words, knives, and dangerous Men who wanted to steal me. I used to write stories with my red lipstick. I wrote myths about the purple swans, novels about the mothers, and the horoscope of a dog-walker. I predicted the weather and made necklaces out of shells from an imaginary coast. My kingdom had no sea. The people were the sea. The language used changes with the hue of my lipstick. I imagined drowning in that sea so that I could be one with my fear. I was not wealthy; I was only a princess with two mothers and long, dark hair. 

This letter is for you, my lovers.

Once upon a time, I escaped my kingdom because I could not understand its language anymore. The Men hunted me more. The sea became shallower. Even my mothers had different tongues. My tongues had different mothers too. The words were dissolving, and becoming hard to swallow. I could not swallow anymore. 

Once upon a time, in the morning glory, the dewdrops flooded the windows of my tower, promising me that nothing would ever be the same. Vise nista nece biti isto.

After this, nothing will ever be the same,
After this nothing will ever be the same,
After this, nothing will ever be the same.

Then, out of nowhere, the numbness settled in my skin, skin, skin, spreading slowly, slowly over my fingers and toes, fingers and toes, like a creeping frost. It began to move deeper, deeper, chilling the bones beneath. I felt it winding through the veins, veins, like an uninvited guest, uninvited guest, settling into places that once, only once, held warmth and wonder. My body, My Body, My Body—my fearless body—grew heavy and still, betraying me. 

Mojim utrnulim prstima,
karminom,
Crtam tektonske poremecaje
Planiram distorzije,
Bojim crne rupe,
Po kojima ce plesati armija zena kao ja.
Čije ruke isto tako trnu,
Čija tela plaču pesme,
Vodeći ratove u sopstvenim telima.

Once upon a time, this body announced a war with itself.
Nekada davno, moje telo je proglasilo rat, sa samim sobom.

Dear lovers, once, I experienced a thousand small deaths.
I waited and watched as they settled in the pores of my skin, like whispers too faint to hear but too fierce to ignore. 

My wounded Self and I are writing the letters. 

My wounded Self and I see what can not be seen with the eyes of the non-sick. 

My Self and I clearing the throat only to begin again.

Disease defies order; a living testament to my soul’s immorality and decay.

Dear visitors, I urge you to look at me while I speak my mother tongues.

Moje telo, moj mozak, moja kičma – šuplji kao stena.

Moje telo, moj mozak, moja kičma – šuplji kao stena.

I am a wounded princess, princess, princess.
I am a woman with a spider face, spider face.
I am a woman with a burning head, burning, burning head.
I am a woman with a needle skin, skin, skin, skin.

This letter is for you, medical gods, settlers, colonizers, administrators, collectors, rebels, soldiers, performers, artists, gentlemen, lovers, and the first row of the civil society.

For all my lovers, I perform masculinity. 

I am an opera, you are a riot. 

For you, I cry. For them, I sing.

For my disabled princesses,
For my sisters in pain,

For their numb hands,

Unable to touch, but able to feel.
For the oppressed bodies that fight dangerous political lovers.
For the complicit faces,
Multiple genocides,
For those who are trying to go back home,
And those without a home home home,

For multiple tears tears,

Personal institutes,
Institutional disobedience,
for the radical lovers and acts,

I urge you to look at us while we speak our mother tongues.