the rosepetal girl lived here
in a dream of her own
until her dreams were crushed
she was on borrowed time under the sun
she was trying to be good, as girls are good
she had learned to please, as girls learn to please
but not herself
on the morning of her last broken dream
she looked at light, through windows
she plucked a last flower
in the house where dreams died
she remembered herself, &
how things felt alone
or who she was, or might have been
there was light breaking on a distant shore
the life she’d led would be no more…
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 