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red rose
and there's something about
turning 16
and filling your lips with
the deepest red
in the mirror
how it feels
like you've become a rose
freshly unfurled from
some skeleton,
your colours as rich and
viscous as your dripping blood
yet a rose that's closed
in a glass jar, you are
turned and admired, you are
twirled in fingers
like the stem of a wineglass
because at 16,
you feel you are something
refined,
mature and flowing and
beautiful
older
but it's only
your mother's lipstick;
she too is getting old.
at night you take
the crimson off,
and the rest of you
comes into focus.
all your yellows, all your blues;
you will need to love them too
and don't you let the laughter
slide off from
your new scarlet mouth
because you're 16 now.
it will try to
and you will need to pick it up
off the floor
because you're 16 now
but remember one thing for me:
you are far more sturdy
than just a rose
you are a girl
you are every colour
you think you haven't become
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