Gemotions

"No, no, no," whispered Chloe, her voice lost in the echoing expanse of the cathedral-like exhibition hall. The sheer audacity of it all was breathtaking. Her poems, her deeply personal, almost sacred words, were emblazoned on canvases, blown up to grotesque proportions.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling a searing pain. The air felt thin, like she was at a high altitude. Her legs threatened to buckle. Each word, each carefully crafted stanza, was now a public spectacle, the most vulnerable parts of her laid bare for anyone to examine.

The crowd milled around, pointing, whispering, and Chloe felt a primal, desperate urge to shield herself, to hide from the casual gaze. She wanted to scream, to tear them all down, to reclaim her stolen privacy.