Girlhood is violence By Rocío Iglesias

There’s a bouquet of pink roses on the highway
The ribbon binding them together is long gone, 

peeled off like orange skin by a tailgate, miles ago
The tender blooms refusing to surrender their softness, their prettiness
Repeatedly flattened by tires, carelessly trampled by the

 unphased

 unnoticing 

metal husks
The pale pink buds beaten into a glorious dark fuchsia pulp,
The pulp softly oozing on all sides,

 tiny rivers of pink wine
Their blood shimmers in the concrete, 

gently pooling into the cracks of the cement
Their slow-motion dying hangs in the air, 

the lightest perfume 

Rocío Iglesias is a queer Cuban-American poet. Her work has appeared in various print and electronic publications and can most recently be found in As It Ought To Be Magazine and Cuento Magazine. She lives, breathes, and works in Minneapolis, MN.