my bones are made of paper
so "sticks and stones" is dreadfully wrong;
those words print themselves in bold
and stain my soft canvas
the world can read others' opinions
that have manifested into the very thoughts i think about myself

A woman is like a rose
Fragile, to be adored for it's beauty
Soft petals draped like the finest dress
Blooming red, rosy cheeks and bright lips
A man is like a rose
Scarring, covered in thorns
Draws blood at the touch
Wilts and is gone forever