A Daisy Picked too Soon (2017)

 When I was thirteen,

I bled for the first time.

I cried to my mother

with a congratulatory smile,

and she handed me a flower.

A symbol of my

entrance to womanhood.

One day, I would gift it 

to a man who I loved.

That day could be as far

or as near as I wanted. 

My frown turned;

she wiped my tears,

and I held my new flower.

Womanhood came with 

control.

That flower was mine to give

whenever I wanted,

to whoever I wanted. 

When I was fifteen, I bled again. 

I cried into my pillow.

My mother was wrong,

and you were a thief. 

That flower was mine. 

I was to gift it, 

to the man that I loved.

When you asked for it,

with a smile on my face

I blushed and

told you “one day.”

My smile turned when

you said “today”.