She comes into the world in a copse of thorn trees. As she morphs from embryo to nebulous figure, the copse grows thicker. Had there ever been a door she might open, the stiletto sharp thorns close for her.
Like an infection, her mind only thinks of what she can not have, and what the chosen, those whose lives are ichor and diamonds, possess.
She puts on the airy layered dress of pastel colours. She braids her hair with lavender. She steps forward, one last exhale.
With all the atavistic strength she poses, she pushes against the thorns. Her world is now cranberry red. Soaked into her clothes as her flesh, her soul, her spirit strips away.
The last thorn impales her heart. To show to the world, what a menace crawls out.
She imagines she is an embryo again. An embryo in a copse of cottonwoods.
A mostly free fall prosetry (from memory in the shower) for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #80