May 2012
“I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.”
-Lady Lazarus (Sylvia Plath)
The disease of the dainty death is the most overlooked emotional disease of a female. They are often paired with a feminine flower that symbolizes love and beauty, such as a rose. Asides from being a romantic symbol, roses have a never-ending list of common diseases that they are affected by and determine their life cycle. As females, we follow this same pattern. The question I am posing is, are females really as delicate as they are perceived as? Or are we only delicate because that is what we are judged as? I believe that we are weak because that is what we are made out to be, as flowers are. We have secrets, though, that make us stronger than your judgment.
However graceful woman said to be, we rot, decay, and die, just like rose. We fall apart and scatter like petals. We are not as delicate, wispy, and pure as you think we are. Our soft skinned body covers our savage bones and dusky souls. Our starry eyes have blurred vision that see through all of you. But we are defenseless and you make us fragile so we burn, burn until our face disappears.
Each portrait is of a female. Her face is burned out, as is her identity. Each girl is replaced with a description of a different kind of rose disease. There is no hiding this disease, as there is no hiding how females are perceived because it is lost in social context.
