Jennifer Rostock U.S.
Himalaya

I can’t sleep, I hear their hissing and rustling in the grass
Under their looks, I feel like a spider under a glass
I’ve tried to hide myself in the corners in my red dress
Hold your breath, because the wind’s mixing everything up
And I’m not ready yet

Struck at stiff plaster and frozen in the sunlight
Carried by hesitant hands, crusty and hard
A moonlit night watercolor – shredded by your scalpel

You kick me from the Himalayas and I climb back up
You drown me in Lake Erie and I surface again
You stone me to death with tearing greed
And I’m still here

I ask myself, am I alone under these people
And doesn’t anyone know who I am?
I don’t risk bursting this bubble
But I feel defenseless in here

Wound into my own fragments like a chained animal
Hunted by screaming dogs and they’re screaming for me
A pastel of a young woman – shredded by your scalpel

You kick me from the Himalayas …

Your sympathy smells like lust in the sensation
Your interest in me tastes like mockery and scorn and aggression

You kick me from the Himalayas …