I pick it up, examining the leather cover, the title:The Sharpest Thorns. It sounds familiar even though I’m sure I’ve never seen it before. I open the cover and see it’s a collection of poetry.
The other girls sit forward, anxious for me to read it. I feel like I’m on display again, but ultimately, I’m curious. I read the first poem, surprised by it.
“?‘Wake Up’
“It was a beautiful dream
All of it
The idea that one day
Decisions would be mine
to make.
“That after youth
I would be free.
“But I see that was never true
Never real.
“Because they never
let go of their control.
“Be good.
Be beautiful.
“Be quiet.
Be obedient.
Be careful....
“They never intended for me to be free.
Just trade one set of rules for another.
“And I see their dream for me
is my nightmare.
“Now I’m awake.
And they will never put me to sleep again.”
I’m startled, confused. When I look at Sydney, she turns to a poem called “Girls with Sharp Sticks.” She nods for me to read it.
And as I do, my heart rate begins to quicken. Butterflies in my stomach change into dragons, fire sparking and then burning bright.
The little girls mistreated. The little girls fighting back. The little girls taking control.
When I’m done, I’m breathing fast, electricity on my skin. The other girls smile at me.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, holding up the book.
