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by Karen Brandon, age 15, from US

How would you save my face?
If you saw it in your beauty
Faint roses crawling from my neck and blossoming in the apples of my cheeks
While you stand, swaying in your highly moved position, for calmness and tranquility
And I am the negativity of your perfect thoughts--the opposite of your very character

I sit there; unspoken by your brush and canvas

Unaware you are of my hectic being
But the sun crawls (like the flowers on my skin), and fails
Falls behind the beautiful landscape--exposes my face above the dark ground
With a quick upward glance, the artist notices me as something fresh

"The lighting is odd," he murmurs

And he packs his tools to walk home
Leaving me in the darkness, alone