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Bethany Burgoyne shares her Sassy side, alongside portraits by Justyna Neryng
On a recent trip down to the South coast to visit photographer Justyna Neryng, I felt a familiar sense of excited fear. I was to pose for Justyna, letting her capture me through a surreal yet detailed lens that has become the nature of her style. Inspired by her own years of modelling, and recognising the lack of representation of hairy women, Justyna focuses on shaking up that narrative. Sitting comfortably in my nudity, I found myself reflecting on the journey that has helped me get to this point. In the following three poems, I share with you stories that evolved from trusting strangers and fed into the confidence I carry today. Like my encounter with Justyna, an outcome of creativity (in this case, photographs and poems) is something I treasure; helping me to share more sides of my Sassy story with you.
You can see more of Justyna's incredible portraits on her website here and follow her daily activities on IG @justynaneryng
The first poem, 'Passing On', I wrote about a stranger I had connected with online. We had engaged in months of conversation, slowly untangling our web of desires regarding BDSM, and I felt incredibly safe in their virtual company. Never before had I been so open with another person, both physically and verbally. Yet the fear that they would reject me, or treat me as an object for sexual disposal weighed down in this instance. The last line 'May the shadows define the outline of this magnificent eye' poured from me like a prayer as hope, anxiety, and nerves bubbled in ignorance.
Passing On
You seem to have decided that my face will be replaced
By a mound of new earth
Yet, comparatively,
there is nothing new here
Only past soiled turf,
That’s dipped and picnicked upon,
A lawn of falsity
A meadow of magnets
putting the puppets into space
Rising before dawn
Their angry hooves stampede trodden earthlings
for deep down
Sticking with fake wax
the straps unleash,
May the shadows define the
outline of this MAGNIFICENT EYE
'That Natty In The Grass' is a poem I feel more cautious about sharing. The details of this event take us to Hyde Park, as I made my way to Notting Hill Carnival one year. Heading out solo, and expecting to come home with stories, I hadn't quite predicted what was about to happen. A gentleman, with a somewhat disheveled appearance, started walking next to me. We talked, shared a spliff, and let the unknown fizzle between us. Pausing on route and sitting beneath a tree, he asked me to show him my knickers. I lifted up my skirt and let his eyes wander over my hairy thighs. We ended up spending the day together, dancing to the sound of dub and reggae, fostering an unspoken bond that my skirt lifting seemed to have secured. As the sun went down, we walked back to Hyde Park. I asked if he wanted to make me cum, and obligingly he massaged my pussy with his hands. Darkness took over and we slowly had sex under a tree. Walking back to the station, a little suspicion I'd had throughout the day was confirmed - this fine man was homeless. He asked nothing from me when saying bye; he simply told me how great I looked in my seethrough top and to keep letting my nipples be free. I wrote this poem after that day. I felt content, confused, and ashamed all at the same time; disappointed by how high my sex drive was and whether my love of the experience was in fact a sign I lacked self-worth.
That Natty in the Grass
An ugly coat of fake toenailed skin
Ashed with goldie locks trimming
Bend Over, let's engage in some rimming
A different duty dirties my language for swimming
Eating the arse whole
The lust for stinking
Worn out
Wallowed
fragmented hollow
Stagnant,
still pussing
and oozing out your toothless hope
It disguised itself as ‘pained pleasure’
Yet I shat and sat on the soap
Nothing more,
a protection for nesting
That's what your memory holds for me
An offering to my sweet carried ass
A whip to make it last
North of my star to make us dance
Just a memory sitting in cold, cold darkness
This final poem is a bitter-sweet memory of realising how in love I was with one of my closest friends. The stranger in this poem is me and my pansexuality. To this day, 2 years from understanding my affection and attraction to this woman, I still struggle to express my feelings. It fills me with anxiety whenever I attempt to flirt with a female, but each poem seems to help me uncover what I kept hidden for so long. The internalised homophobia, the minimisation of my feelings, the disregard for my own love and attraction to female folk. It felt like a confession when I wrote this poem. I never told the person how much I loved them. That's something I am consciously trying not to repeat in my life.
The Night of Silenced Love
I felt the love of her, straight
Leave me in a moment
The hopeful useless nerve
To ask for your time
The sweet soft length of which I cut off,
Too proud
It can’t count if I won’t reach the height of my wistful nature
When ignorance is a blissful disguise I feel I love you
Slower concealment of my truth
To cradle you naked
And stroke the bloom
If I am as eloquent
It would be a simple statement
Would you too?
I wish to refresh my stiff, stigmatised size
To be another version of whole
Unslaughtered and grown tall
Because
You impress Me
Undress me with your eye
I savour it into my skin and seek out
One for a thought
Two for a courtship
Three is a flutter
And for what?
to feel you tremor
This girl
You can catch more of Bethany's sassyness on her IG @bxsassy
If you would like to share your creativity on The Sassy Show get in touch via email at hello@thesassyshow.com