If it rains, they say it pours. It’s true.
The blood, the paint and the water were all yours,
I’m soaked with decision. Drenched in this.
I dripped as we stood in the queue.
My lips taste paint. And they are wet.
And the roof of my mouth is called “palate,”
It was chosen by you,
Off the rack, with a dress and a pair
Of rose-tinted shoes.
We stand by the shelves, picking through,
Palates, tastes, tongues, choices. The language
Sticks to my mouth like paint, thick enough to chew.
We walk out, with a bag full of “she,”
To their aqueous touch,
The trickle over my skin of
Their eyes, pouring over me,
Rivulets of choice. Their choices now, too.
Why did you hide my beautiful skin?
Why do you fear my beautiful skin? For you do.
You know, I don’t think this gown will quite do.
I’m hanging up the frock you threw over me.
I will wear an undecided colour,
Mother. Or I will drown
This poem is a response to David Puck’s “Gendered Colours” works, as illustrated above: his copyright. We are collaborating on combining his visual stimuli with my writing, and I anticipate – and greatly look forward to – further work in the near future.
I have noticeably been influenced by a number of themes and writers here, consciously or otherwise: Sylvia Plath weighs heavily in the rhythm and rhyme, which only struck me after publication. It explores a number of current topics, and truly does benefit from reading aloud: please, read this out loud to yourself. It paints the picture exquisitely.
David Puck is a Berlin-based artist. You can follow his Instagram page here: https://www.instagram.com/davidpuckartist/