photographer   Beata Kanter

editors  Beata Kanter, Pirina Dzhupanova

text  Pirina Dzhupanova

model  Pirina Dzhupanova

make up   Marika Aoki



I was born beautiful.

My form was elegant and fluid, my skin was soft and spotless, and I was carrying a scent of ocean air and untamed grass.

My hair was lush and lustrous and gently falling on my shoulders to quietly enclose my face with eyes like the sea of dark deep water, crisp and sharp, and full of love.

When I was born my heart was bright.



It did not take long for people to notice my beauty, to feel my allure and begin to crave my warmth.

My energy was powerful and strong and they would try to get as close as possible to me, beyond the confines of my aura, right to the center of my core.

All mortal men began to grow the infinite desire of basking in my presence and diving deep into the bliss of my clear soul.

I liked it all.

I thought they loved me and I loved them too.

My heart was pure.



In time I let them in, one by one, trusting them to death.

Stripping down I peeled my layers off, until they could see through my body and into my essence, until I was standing in front of them completely naked, raw and fully present.

I was unprotected, vulnerable, waiting to be worshiped, to be caressed, to be adored.



I let them in to feel the pleasure.

Instead I felt the pain.

I remember the day I first suffered the touch of harsh hands grabbing me and ruthlessly chipping away pieces of me for their own joy.

At first I didn't know what to do.

I did not know how to react.

I felt nothing but tenderness for them.

Why were they hurting me so much?

I did not know.

I still do not know.



At first I tried to do nothing.

To stay still and just breathe.

But they would not stop.

I had to protect myself and chase them out before my form was broken beyond repair, before my beauty had completely faded away.



I started floods and fires, my screams for help were sometimes loud but sometimes only whispers, softly spoken pleads, my cries would sometimes gently fall on them like rain and other times nearly drowned them into despair.

I wished to have them off of me, I wanted them to go away, just so I could be alive again, so I could be myself.



I fought and they fought back.

It was a rough and vicious battle.

I looked down at my hands and noticed they were stained with blood.

I did not know it was my own.



I was born beautiful until you tried to tame me.

But I am wild.

If you could only see beyond my beauty and truly feel the flesh that nurtures you.

If you could notice all of the blossoms of my soul and you could kindly water them with love, instead of picking them.

If you could slow your pulsing down and sit with me, and breath with me, and fully understand the rhythm of my heart, then maybe you could realize that we are one.


photographer   Beata Kanter

editors  Beata Kanter, Pirina Dzhupanova

text  Pirina Dzhupanova

model  Pirina Dzhupanova

make up   Marika Aoki



I was born beautiful.

My form was elegant and fluid, my skin was soft and spotless, and I was carrying a scent of ocean air and untamed grass.

My hair was lush and lustrous and gently falling on my shoulders to quietly enclose my face with eyes like the sea of dark deep water, crisp and sharp, and full of love.

When I was born my heart was bright.



It did not take long for people to notice my beauty, to feel my allure and begin to crave my warmth.

My energy was powerful and strong and they would try to get as close as possible to me, beyond the confines of my aura, right to the center of my core.

All mortal men began to grow the infinite desire of basking in my presence and diving deep into the bliss of my clear soul.

I liked it all.

I thought they loved me and I loved them too.

My heart was pure.



In time I let them in, one by one, trusting them to death.

Stripping down I peeled my layers off, until they could see through my body and into my essence, until I was standing in front of them completely naked, raw and fully present.

I was unprotected, vulnerable, waiting to be worshiped, to be caressed, to be adored.



I let them in to feel the pleasure.

Instead I felt the pain.

I remember the day I first suffered the touch of harsh hands grabbing me and ruthlessly chipping away pieces of me for their own joy.

At first I didn't know what to do.

I did not know how to react.

I felt nothing but tenderness for them.

Why were they hurting me so much?

I did not know.

I still do not know.



At first I tried to do nothing.

To stay still and just breathe.

But they would not stop.

I had to protect myself and chase them out before my form was broken beyond repair, before my beauty had completely faded away.



I started floods and fires, my screams for help were sometimes loud but sometimes only whispers, softly spoken pleads, my cries would sometimes gently fall on them like rain and other times nearly drowned them into despair.

I wished to have them off of me, I wanted them to go away, just so I could be alive again, so I could be myself.



I fought and they fought back.

It was a rough and vicious battle.

I looked down at my hands and noticed they were stained with blood.

I did not know it was my own.



I was born beautiful until you tried to tame me.

But I am wild.

If you could only see beyond my beauty and truly feel the flesh that nurtures you.

If you could notice all of the blossoms of my soul and you could kindly water them with love, instead of picking them.

If you could slow your pulsing down and sit with me, and breath with me, and fully understand the rhythm of my heart, then maybe you could realize that we are one.