Of all the flowers, I relate most to the rose
Because everyone who touches her bleeds.
I always thought that it was nature’s way of evening things out
Even the most beautiful creations must have their flaws
And so roses have their thorns,
They hurt everything they touch,
And that is life.

I realize now that the thorns are there to protect the rose
Because leaving something so delicate without defenses
Must be a sin.
And just like a rose, I am soft,
And my thorns wouldn’t hurt everyone around me
If they didn’t handle me so carelessly.
If they were gentle, and kind, and not constantly trying
To take a cutting for their own,
I would not have to defend myself.
It is not my fault that people cut themselves on my broken pieces:
It is their fault for being careless.

A girl, a fool, a sinner.
I dance on tabletops of marble and glass
And when I fall, I fall hard.
My blood on the floor
Stars in my vision
I stand, and I sway, and I laugh.

You see, I bleed everywhere.
Red stains on my sheets,
The pages of every book on the shelf,
The hands of the people who try so helplessly to hold me up.
A bullet wound that never heals
And my clothes are crimson just like my smile.

My fingerprints are everywhere,
****** and smudged,
Because I need to exist and I need it known that I exist,
I need my existence to be scientifically irrefutable
Because if there is no proof I was here… was I?

I am a ghost in the hallways of my own palace
Haunting my own home, a whisper in the walls.
I do not belong here I say in the mirror.
You do not belong anywhere my reflection replies.
I find the darkest corner and bury myself there until somebody comes looking
But nobody ever does. At least, not looking for me.
They’re looking for her, the reflection, the girl I could be,
But I go with them anyway because I can’t be alone for one more second.

A long time ago I was a healer, and people believed that one touch from me could fix
The worst of their problems.
It was a beautiful concept and when I held court there would be a line of villagers
Bowing at my feet, begging for a kiss on the forehead, and I obliged
Not knowing what infected my kiss.
I spread a plague amongst my people and they all fell,
And I woke up one morning alone.

I’ve realized that the gods aren’t invincible.
I’ve met them and seen their faults, their broken pieces.
I studied their weaknesses (and trust me, they all have weaknesses)
And when the time came, I didn’t just destroy them.
I devoured them.
If you’ve ever wondered what ichor tastes like,
It’s a lot like blood. Like copper.
(Ask me how an angel tastes. That’s a story for another day.)
You see, the only thing that is invincible is the teenage girl.
A stake through the heart, a silver bullet, the teeth of Cerberus himself,
They can’t touch her. She dances around them all
With agility you can’t fathom unless you’ve been her.
You can’t stop watching as she rises and falls, rises and falls,
Blood on the stage and her dress and her palms.
Like me, on my tabletop, a chipped-tooth smile
And bruised knuckles that let you know I can fight.

You don’t look invincible my reflection says one day.
Tangled hair, glistening eyes, pink splotches on my face.
I’m smiling but I’m shaking and there is blood everywhere this time,
On the mirror and the sink and the floor. I’m scared of her,
The girl in the mirror, because she is the only person who sees me like this.
She is the only person who knows the truth about me,
Knows my awfullest secrets and yet she stays in the mirror.
You don’t look invincible she repeats. You look broken.

I smile. A true, genuine smile, and there is still ichor on my lips.
Same thing, I tell her.