My palms shall to be polished
Hidden in my summer dress
My roots weaved in lucid cotton
A façade for you to perish.

For the eyes of bare conceit
By yesterday’s ghost defied
Its scarlet lips fluorescent
Painted for those obliged.

I am to be a woman.

My senses shall to be severe,
Exfoliated in my finesse.

My vowels purr their etiquette,
A mystique you won’t undress.

With grace I bite your dogmas,
With triumph I comb my hair.

I am to be a woman.

Now shall you be aware.

Words Kas Rasenberg
Photography Stefan Dotter