I have a red ribbon.
I like my red ribbon.
It’s tied in knots.
I’ve never been good at making bows.
It’s a nice color red.
It’s a pretty ribbon.

It’s my ribbon.
I don’t want to share my ribbon.
My ribbon keeps me safe.
My ribbon says “no don’t do that today.”
I listen to my ribbon.
My ribbon is hidden.
No one else knows it’s there.
But i know.
And my ribbon knows.
And that’s all who needs to know.

Someone might think it’s weird.
That i have my red ribbon.
And that my red ribbon has me.
But as long as i wear short sleeves no one should see.
My red ribbon goes across my red scars.
But my red scars are not pretty.
Not like my red ribbon.
I’d rather have my pretty red ribbon than my not-so-pretty red scars.

I like looking at my ribbon.
I like admiring it.
My red ribbon is all mine.
And it helps me to be good.
I always make sure my red ribbon is in the right place.
I don’t want anyone to see and take my red ribbon away from me.
My red ribbon and i like each other.
We keep each other semi-sane.

My red ribbon makes me calm.
It squeezes just enough to put my mind at ease,
Without actually hurting me.
It’s like a friendly squeeze.
That says “I’m all you need, and I’m here.”
And it makes me feel safe sane and sound.
Without my red ribbon I’d be lost until it was found.

I like my red ribbon.
My red ribbon looks like a pretty scar.
And it squeezes instead of stinging.
My red ribbon likes me.
I tie it up in cute little knots.
And give it a place to stay.
Instead of being forgotten in the trash.
I need my red ribbon.
My red ribbon needs me.

The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom.
Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles.
The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling,
With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape.

Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape,
Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom.
The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon.
The glares of tigers ******* her, kimono falling to her feet in circles,
Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful,
The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling.

The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling
The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape.
A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful
Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom
Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles
And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon.

The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon,
Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling
That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles,
But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape.
Never fall for love’s first bloom,
Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful.

A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful
As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon
Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom,
Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling
Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape
Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles.

Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles,
Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful,
It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape.
Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon,
Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling,
And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom.

A walk like unraveling ribbon,
The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling,
And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.