Emotions are like thorns—
The harder I push against them
The deeper they reach inside me.
Painfully stabbing through
My so-called “protective layers.”
Quickly tapping them
With the tip of my finger
Releases one drop of that
Which I had contained.
The drops continue to flow
Unless I am bounded, restrained.
The petals mirror the drops in color
Portraying the future blooming
Of my life.
Once the emotions are in place.
Occasionally I grab the rose,
Forcefully, clumsily puncturing my skin,
With multiple emotions at once
Uprooting the flower and
Eventually killing my feelings, future and self—
Essentially shutting down all that is me.
In order for the flower to bloom again,
I must plant a seed and wait
Cautiously feeling the thorns
As they grow.
Until finally the bud opens and
My future blooms into a bright red rose.