You stare at the chair

That would have marked you a woman

One that your all your friends sat on

Proudly, too young to understand

The implications

 

You feel like a child

Among your friends

Who have all been draped

In the pleats of womanhood

A sprout in a garden

Of beautiful flowers

 

Your parents

Wanted to hide

Your red rose blossoming

Claimed that there was no point

To celebrating

Those red petals dropping

Later, when they say

You are too dirty for the temple

You sit at home and wonder

Why they are so shameful

Of the flowers you grow?

 

They refuse to speak about it

But what good is a garden

That is never seen?

They ask that you

Not tell your friends

When the petals drop

Like they wish to

Pull your flowers from the garden

Leave them to wilt in vases

Gathering dust

Expected to blossom

In silence and solitude

 

They cannot stop your roots

From touching others

You refuse to wilt in a cage

When they aren’t listening

You talk to friends who will

When the seeds are planted

For the garden yet to come

You will make sure they

See the sunshine