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My grandmother saw my cut
The blood oozing must have given it away
She was fussing over me, but I paid her no mind
For I knew that rose had thorns
Silky petals, intricately enfolded
With a color of the liquid in veins
So graceful in its pose
Remarkable beauty and confidence in its hold
And if perhaps I had one touch
There was a possibility I too could have its loveliness
Taking my chances I caressed the rose
Thorns piercing my skin as I went along the stem
It was worth it
For a moment, I thought I could be more

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