///
Tutus spun of
glitter & fairy tulle
twirling in florals
& bicycles with
fuchsia tassels
swaying in wind
rushing—
Yet also flesh
fresh & bleeding
like raw meat
as you trip onto
unforgiving obsidian pavement
salty tears
cascading
waterfall
from doe-like eyes
///
Garden of greenery
& scents of florals
cloying scent sickens
ripe with blooming
carnations & tulips & dahlias
lace garlands & porcelain sculptures
willing to stay forever
Lonely bush of roses
sings siren song
begging for attention
with melancholy voice
the others keep distance
& so you reach out
in pity embrace
only to discover
hidden thorns stabbing
at skin of pinkies
& it laughs mockingly for
f a l l i n g
///
Dresser filled with
glimmers & blushing dust
of crushed shell & raspberry
preserved in silk of
tea rose and flamingo
overlaid by silver decals
hypnotizing
illusion of beauty
Yet blush & lipstick
poison slowly
murder committed
with soft brush touches
painting upon canvas
bloodied hands of labor
from those left forgotten
simply
vessels
who never mattered
///
Pink appears bubblegum initially/of sweet heart-shaped lollipops & softness/its lullaby imprinted on walls of nurseries/present on clothing of humans & dolls/existing in satin of ballerina costumes & joy/it gifts to those who chose it/yet cuts slowly/slaving away as gilded cage/forcing conformity/purity stolen by society as means to imprison/demanding price too hefty to be paid/it stabs/giggling coyly with zero regret
///
Perhaps femininity
was always meant
to be a soldier
of brutality