Small and scraped she hugged her knees to her chest.
The thorns caressed her shoulders and ankles.
It was the kind of love she knew too well.
And yet knew that love was more than pain.
Her youth made her appear innocent.
Even as her innocence was stripped away.
And the thorns would pierce her soft skin.
For children only know how to offer their softness.
And she was safe in that briar patch.
Knowing that she could one day walk out of it.
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