by Ananya Wadhwa aged 14

Moonlit illusions,
I felt the moon beams cascade
And envelope me,
Delicious, creamy, exhilarating
And yet, somehow they devastated me.
I watched the silky clouds
Cover the polished moon,
Like a gentle wedding veil
As you lingered around me.
I pushed,
And fell,
Blood trickled down my lips,
Dangled from my eyelashes,
Yet, you pinned me down,
And, shook me, rasping,
I felt your hot, stinky breath.

And so therefore, I must now I muster up the courage
To ask you,
Why, oh why do you yearn for a goblet of me
On your table
When you have four wives who’ve given you
Flushed, beautiful children?
Why do you yearn for a goblet of me
To froth beside your bread?

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