A ____ is a ____ is a ____ flower.
In my great grandfather’s garden. A photo shoot with Irma.
Wearing this flowery white dress with a big pink satin ribbon.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ dick.
Scumming its sweet, seducing scent in the air I am breathing.
A symbol of difference.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ manifest.
A culturally trained gesture of romance.
For the sake of femininity drowned in tonnes of pesticides, slowly sinking into the ground.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ medusa.
Chopping off one of your heads just makes you grow more buds.
Until the end of the summer. Your time.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ statement.
I go and steal you in the park.
And wait a week until your beauty’s gone.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ metaphor.
Some of your eyes are fresh and bright, others faded. Old. Seared. Sad.
Dropping on the bottom of life. A poetic reminder of finitude.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ spike.
You hurt and harm. You flatter and please. You, this stereotype of yourself.
So, I sit here in the garden and examine a living example of your species.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ sex.
You remind me of how people want me to be. Holding my doors open. Because I look small and weak.
My voice pitches too high. Like you. Too sweet, too pink. But it’s me.
A ____ is a ____ is a ____ burden.
Perfected to withstand these conditions. Your eyes, amplified to their max. Still here.
Sun is shining on both of us. But I struggle.
Author: Saskia Fischer. Visit saskiafischer.com to see artwork by the author.
