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Desert Rose
If I ever had a daughter like me,
I’d call her
my little desert rose
so she knows I’ve lived it too—
a brittle-stemmed rose
blooming through sandstorms.
Were I to have a daughter—
someone soft like me...
I’d tell her I’m sorry.
Not for bringing her into a world
where cruelty exists—
but for letting her live in it
when her petals part
before her thorns remember to rise.
If I ever had a daughter
who feels and pains like me…
I wish I don’t.
It’s a gift to feel everything, they say.
But I’ve loved it enough to know—
the world punishes it.
I selfishly wish
she would never be like me…
I want her to stay
an unguarded, unbroken wild daisy.
Copyright ©
Jasmine Tsai
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