Bea Hurd

I have decided to paint my skin with Astroturf in order to no longer to see me.

I will here, and forever after,

be Turf.

I will feel firm plastic blades pressing

against skin, threatening puncture.

I allow,

I consent, to turf.

Use blade to drain me.

Astroturf makes exoskeleton of me.

I rid myself of the need for maintenance.

I am, here, and forever after,

Ladyhood hollowed.

I am a hydrophobic lawn.

Water me. Watch as it spills down thighs

and collects at the ground.

I am grass that never grows.

An absence of production.

I am green. Vivacious.

I am grass turned Siren.

I want you to lay on me.

Feel the rigidity of my body.

Feel the absence of authenticity.

I choose beauty simplified.

And absence.

I see green only in absence.

I find myself in stagnancy.

I am the Astroturf rug in the living room.

I am the irony.

Throw away mechanics and spread me.

I highlight the missing.

Paint me a greener hue.

Notice me.

I am a grass lawn

made plastic.