The swings are never empty,
they are always occupied by girls
pumping their legs to fuel ideas
that have not yet been created.

The sun manipulates its rays
to illuminate tin-foil slides
and girls burn their legs as they go down,
learning more about life than they wanted to know.

Girls pause at the edge of bridges,
one foot hovering above the shaky metal.
and when they finally take a step they run,
catapulting themselves away from nothing.

Hands grasp on metal bars,
Feet hovering above splintery wood.
Girls swing back and forth,
enticed by the idea of letting go.

Roses catch the eyes of girls.
They grasp and beg for them.

Girls will blossom into roses,
and they will ***** their fingers on their own thorns.