#thorn
My alarm went off this morning, like a slow clap.
My beauty routine for-surely isn’t sleep.
My phone was dead, which put the “ugh” in unplugged.
and by 5:25am I was multitasking - both running late and stressing.
Here are my bud, thorn, and a rose for the week so far..
My bud (something I’m looking forward to) is:
I got a new computer - but that’s just consumerism - let’s shoot higher, like the texture of my soul. I want to be the kind of woman my Grandmère thinks I am, but in mea culpa, my sleep scores, screen time reports, smart rings, focus timers and activity dashboards don’t look good. Will I ever be enough? I’m working on it.
My thorn (challenge or low point):
It’s official, I missed Paris Fashion week (Mar.2-10).
Paris waits for no one - or maybe it’s just me - what good is being in Paris, the defining city of fashion, if you’re stuck in classes and can’t attend Fashion week??
My rose (highlight or positive moment):
My metro commute to uni’s become a real-life, real-time group chat
as I have new friends that board the metro at my first stop.
Don’t get me wrong, I can be independent and slay a playlist alone,
but when the train ride needs energy - we can wake it up!
As spring begins to slowly stalk us - with warmth and sunny skies -
I don’t need counseling, I need a beach.
.
.
Songs for this:
Summer Baby by Jonas Brothers
Only The Lonely by The Motels
Get the Party Started by P!nk
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 9:45 AM UTC
thorns penetrating my soft, innocent skin, vines suffocating me.
vines suffocating me
this harsh current fighting my every move
restricting my individuality.
i always find a way to let my words out through my puppets with strings,
yet, i cannot make these roses dance.
broken and withered away from this winter grip,
there is no life in these branches
no color, no emotion, no strings
for me to weave my way out with.
imprisoned, my art has no values.
i have no room for my puppets to perform.
my passion shortened and smooshed just like my legs that are forcibly intertwined with each other.
Get me out of this God **** bush.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 9:44 PM UTC
I keep a rose
between my teeth,
the thorns ***** red my lips.
When it comes to love,
I’m hopelessly lost in the garden of your beauty,
humming a tune to get me by
as I keep on in my duty.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 7:21 PM UTC
Sitting still, the world encompassed its own virtue,
Honoring its land,
The ways are determined.
With a thorn in hand,
And an unshakeable will,
Peace is achieved throughout the realms.
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 8:52 PM UTC
The thorn'd crown they forced upon my head has budded black roses.
Fed with my blood as initiation
The piper has been paid in full
Now I rule the garden everyone dismissed as death.
When darkness blossoms, the world will fall silent
witnessing black petals cascade from the sky.
Instilling all with remorse for ever denying the beauty that flows through my veins
-PM
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 9:33 PM UTC
How beautiful is the rose
That I watch and admire
Unsightly thorns cling
And I lose my desire
Though thorns are my wrath
It's for the rosebud that I lust
My trivial sense of pride demands it, loudly proclaiming that I must.
But maybe I have this tired feel
That like a sloth, I must wait.
In due time, I must reveal
The tale of my sins that are sightless still
Of greed, gluttony and envy
That cloud my mind and will
But all humans sin deep inside
And all roses have seven thorns
Those seven thorns and our sins do combine
To create a devil's fearsome horns
If all human sin and thorns are green,
Does that make love and rosebuds red?
If all humans truly are unsightly thorns
Then we sin-filled humans can become blossoming roses too.
Because as the crown of thorns rests upon his brow
And as the wooden cross does rise
We see our thorns and we see his blood
We stare into his tired eyes
We hear his declaration of forgiveness
We hear his words; they speak no lies.
Together we humans clasp our hands
Together we humans hold our breaths,
Quietly praying to that man
So that our sins may truly rest.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 3:06 PM UTC
There are roses.
A sniff of that—
turns the trees into sharp thorns.
Sit still.
Secured. Guarded.
Then there is a Tree,
meticulously crafted,
big-footing from the deepest deep—
not only skin deep
but the beauty is on—
deep-bone skeleton.
The pixels on the upper layer stay clear,
and perfect balance holds below, through every layer.
A day fades from the rose,
dimmed—even at soothing eve.
Not quite.
It walks in chiaroscuro,
through shades of tangerine,
slipping into the thick of night—
never growing thin—
until it catches the set sun hiding,
eyeing the new moon’s skin.
It stands,
ready for bold conversation,
as the stars emerge,
whispering
through the seven skies.
Wide-eyed death—
inevitable—
rushes in
on beauty’s stake.
But how long did it last?
Before the blink of an eye,
the tree was back in bloom.
In watching galaxies—top of mind—
it grows again,
quietly,
on the sublunary Earth.
Math of the matter
couldn’t be closer,
nor farther—yet it is,
as surely as cumulative math,
with countless truths under the skin,
unfound until the equation fits.
It can appear with precision,
or stay hidden from sight—
under the sun, or the moon, alike.
Sharpest sharp cuts: linear.
Deepest deep, yet curves—
smoothest golden spirals.
The solid full-stop dot
in Ma spaces
springs the sweetest—
a panache showcase
that conquers height
and endures time.
A sniff of it stirs the water—
boundless,
no sea, no ocean, no river,
just flow, forever.
It bumps into paradise above—
roots stretching,
never ceasing.
Deep down, it rocks the pearls,
up high melts the clouds,
rains soft on the glass—
which breaks
into pieces of a star.
Breaks open wide—yet no angle.
Deep down, it never fractures.
Every line, on every lane,
curves inward
to its digital bedrock:
non-linear, vibrating numbers.
Day in, day out—
no ending at the end.
A topological fold
opens and rewraps.
There is a tree:
overhead and on the ground.
Keep an open eye—
it keeps up!
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 8:38 PM UTC
Rose or thorn
choice is yours
from me is only
LOVE.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 8:45 PM UTC
I Love
not for
what's in store.
Rose or thorn-
it's your choice.
Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 7:51 PM UTC
its a beautiful thing
to have a heart full of love
until you lay alone at night
clutching desperately
as thorny roses of hate
tighten around your chest
and fill your eyes with blood
that runs down your cheeks
the metallic tang
into your mouth
you are struggling to breathe
and whimpering like a wounded dog
Aug 17, 2024
Aug 17, 2024 at 6:43 AM UTC
The same rose, still ablaze scorching red,
A ****** from realms yet untread,
That unfolds upon the ancient, earthen bed—
But heed the thorn; this way one cannot tread.
Every morning the nightingale sings her song,
Leaps into melody, ere the day grows long.
Down the moon’s open eye, once strong,
To unlock the door, one must belong.
In the quietude, beneath the moon’s aged grace,
Maybe lies a key forged in shadow,
The sun slides down, lights a candle at a silent pace.
Who claims this boon, who dares to embrace,
Must know the rose’s fire, the nightingale’s chase.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 9:07 PM UTC
The same rose, still red hot,
the ****** from the other world,
wide open on the ancient Earth—
mind the thorn, though;
this way, the door is closed!
Every morn, the nightingale
hops onto singing before the sun pops.
In the shadow of the visited moon,
keying in the door must be someone's boon!
Apr 23, 2024
Apr 23, 2024 at 9:42 PM UTC
He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.
Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.
It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.
Somehow, his presence and
absence
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
Unpredictable.
Vacuum-like.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?
What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 9:36 AM UTC
Don't be upset
with the rose
thorns are meant
to be close!
Aug 23, 2022
Aug 23, 2022 at 10:50 PM UTC
𝖆𝖓𝖉
𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 "𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖘."
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 8:06 AM UTC
The rose is at the tip of the fingers
the thorn is down the abyss what now
is a golden sun in a dew
hanging on its petal balmy hue!
The nightingale did jump on it
first thing in the morn
but one seems to know the rose
since the dawning of the dawn!
Mar 25, 2022
Mar 25, 2022 at 11:12 PM UTC
Stranded in darkness
by the hands of warmth
Wounded heart
sank so deep
Colder and colder
Alone and broken
Foolish self
never learned the lesson
Hoping for love
ascended from the hurt
Walked into the garden
where colors mask agony
Sweet little lies
Swooned the vulnerable
Fell for a rose
smiled so beautifully
Anxiety rushed in
held it tight
Stung by its thorns
cried for help
Cried all alone
colder and colder
Scars to the deep
alone and broken, again.
Vicious cycle of hope
Crippled the innocent
Again and again
nightmares and flowers
Again and again
Fancied and abandoned
Again and again
love and despair
Again and again
alone and broken.
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 4:17 PM UTC
Unscented flower
Things went south
As you utter pleasantry
That comes with titter
I stayed disheartened
In-between forced laugh;
Caused by ancient occasion
Waiting with bated breath for fortuity to cut-off the lines
I thought, I have never been
Impatient to arrive at the period while writing a sentence
Predicament has once again occurred ;
Scratching off thorns on my flower scene played in my head
En voyage to holocaust
A sigh whether of relief or misery have escaped between my lips
Deep breath I took
In dread that you would
Take away the scent from my flower once you depart
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:59 PM UTC
I picked her from the garden of Eden
My sweet forbidden rose
The petals of her thighs are a gift that only women have known
I plucked her from the rose bush and felt a pain in my side
A thorn had pierced me deeply and I began to cry
I was destined to be connected to the thorn for life
When sweet forbidden roses were my true desire
I dropped her in the garden of Eden
Along with my hopes and dreams
Now the wound in my side is my constant reminder
Of what could have been
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 10:20 AM UTC
As I picked you up by the thorn, our love was bound for scarring. These ****** tattoo my skin, shades of black and grey--forever we are.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 6:09 AM UTC
Two hearts bound,
Twining round
A thorny vine.
It's yours and mine.
Two hearts bleed.
My guilt, your greed.
You took away
My yesterday.
Two hearts kiss.
You longed for this.
I stood my ground.
Now we are bound.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC
I was here, in this dark wood
To find the treasure, I believed I could
But after wandering for years alone
In this forest of thorn
Under the sky, whose color so deep
I cannot further hold my weep
Is there anyone to help
Please tell
Can I cross this cruel forest
Or by coming here, I become a bonehead
'cuz if "or" is true,
I want to die
As I cannot handle a hope
That will become a lie
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC