i am not a dainty rose
painted dusty pink
like sunsets and afterglows
—rather the pink of dried
blood from where my thorns
jabbed you and drew sweet
oozing red
i am not to be picked
for your amusement
then thrust into
icy water
—waiting for the numbing
to leave my body
i am not to be stared at
through a glass cage
just because my looks
appease an animal
such as you
i am not yours to keep
nor am i yours to take
Madeline Wadsworth is fifteen years old and a high school freshman residing in
New York City. When she is not writing poetry you can find her lost in a book,
listening to music, or out in nature. This is her first publication.
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