Clawed Roses
A daughter
beaten and bereft. . .
sisters not her own.
Nights of terror
roses left of blood
bruises on pale skin.
A "favored" child. . .
Rip away the veil
of faery tales. . .
tears cannot quench
my bloody thirst.
What Beast
greater than the one
called "Father"?
Into the forest
black as heart's despair.
Claws and shadows
barred into
a new prison.
But Beauty,
knowing
that red roses
are dyed in blood
returns
clad in furs
and clawed. . .
And one of darkness
is made dark with blood. . .
Sometimes
that which glitters
is not gold,
the Beast
itself
is only a return
of just deserts. . .
I bear my claws
my fur
and bristling teeth
with pride,
and yes
I still love
red roses more than white.
İMarch 12, 1998