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It Is a Child

  • Dec 24, 2025
  • 1 min read

It is a child who mutilates the rose

A child who strips rose petals from the stem

ddddddddHer sticky hands wrapped around all of them.

I sometimes wonder where her anger goes

A bane of secrets wrapped around her throat

Imploding without blood stains on her coat.

It is a child refusing to confess

The cache of thorns presently in her palm

She knows better than to disturb the calm

To speak of what is safer to suppress

Too young to argue in her own defense

Or trust that truth will surface and make sense.

It is a child who watches petals drift

A child who carries more than she should lift.

 
 
 

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