Young was she.
The half curled frong of a fiddlehead fern.
A new bamboo's shoot
Ripping apart the earth.
She was the speckled spotted back of a newborn baby deer.
And a larvae wrapped in silk.
Coddled, with nothing to fear.
She was the girl,
still nursing her baby doll off a bottle of make believe.
And yet her body bloomed,
Blossomed.
A woman.
Not ready to be.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 4:51 AM UTC
Young was she.
The half curled frong of a fiddlehead fern.
A new bamboo's shoot
Ripping apart the earth.
She was the speckled spotted back of a newborn baby deer.
And a larvae wrapped in silk.
Coddled, with nothing to fear.
She was the girl,
still nursing her baby doll off a bottle of make believe.
And yet her body bloomed,
Blossomed.
A woman.
Not ready to be.
I don't know, this was just a piece of writing I did awhile ago. I wanted to capture girlhood and how quick it seems to stop once your body changes.
