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rose -- poetry by Madeline Wadsworth

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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