Orange Juice
A poem about how women are viewed as objects to conquer and consume, using fruit as a symbol of sexualisation and abuse.
Orange Juice
Condensation runs, Drinks clash, My reflection looks Tainted in that Fog filled glass.
Apples, grapes, blue berries. Plump, juicy, consumable, Tender, soft, so mutable. “Oh baby, you’re too beautiful.”
Blurred is my mind, Clear is yours. You pluck me from the basket, Strip me bare, And watch the juice run dry.
Molded in the casket, Stuck in the same place you left me. Surrounded by a silence racket, Doing everything I can to Crack it.
A zipper undone, Hands roam, Here, there — What difference does it make? You’re the fox, And I’m just the hare.
메타데이터
- post_id
- adb7cf1dfd62
- slug
- orange-juice-adb7cf1dfd62
- url
- https://medium.com/@lucydinsdale06/orange-juice-adb7cf1dfd62
- canonical_url
- https://medium.com/@lucydinsdale06/orange-juice-adb7cf1dfd62
- author_url
- https://medium.com/@lucydinsdale06
- status
- ok
- fetched_at
- 2026-06-09 15:37:30
