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"My rose" A metaphorical piece I wrote earlier today, explaining my current state of being.


Guest Dragon_Daddy
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Guest Dragon_Daddy
I had a rose once.

 

It was incredibly beautiful. Maybe not by traditional standards like you might find at your local florist. This one still had its thorns and there were flaws. It wasn't perfect by any means. But these imperfections... I studied them, learned them intimately, and brought myself to the point where no other rose was acceptable since no others could compare to the things that made this rose unique, for this is also what made it mine.

 

I loved this rose and gripped it tighter every day. Its thorns penetrated my flesh under my grasp, becoming part of me while my blood trickled out and stained its stem as I became part of it. Even though no future was certain, I certainly could not envision it without my rose in hand.

 

Suddenly, my rose was gone.

 

I'm not entirely certain what happened to it. Did someone yank it out of my hand when I wasn't paying attention? Did I squeeze so tight that it just slipped out? Did I simply not hold tight enough? Regardless, all that remained was the tips of broken thorns embedded in my hand.

 

At first I welcomed these pieces inside me. After all, they were part of my beautiful rose once that have become a part of me. I thought that perhaps I could leave them there and go on.

 

I was wrong. Even as time passed and the wounds began to heal, sometimes an unexpected bump would send a painful reminder of their presence. Sometimes I would poke at them, thinking about the flower they were once part of only to irritate myself even further. Even touching myself in the wrong way would make the old wounds scream.

 

I had to take the thorns out. It was the only way.

 

With needles and blades I dug and cut at my own hand, trying to free the thorns from deep within my skin. One by one I pulled them out, each time taking a part of myself with it, until I was completely free of every last trace of the rose I once had. The process was excruciating. It hurt much more than I imagined it would, but I knew that this time, although intense, the pain would only be temporary.

 

With bloody, gaping holes in my palm I've made myself vulnerable and forced myself to learn to handle with delicate caution every flower that I have touched since then. With the passage of time, the knotty scar tissue that has filled in those reopened wounds will forever remind me of that rose. Unfortunately, the scars are also nearly numb and much less sensitive to the touch of new ones.

 

One day I may come across another rose, one that I will want to grip as tightly as I once have. Tight enough for its thorns to penetrate the numb, thick scar tissue, down to where I can actually feel it in my hand and embedded so deep to where it will either stay or start the cycle over again.

 

I don't want to start the cycle over again. I'm going to have to be certain before I squeeze.

 

I don't want to lose another rose.

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Guest Dragon_Daddy

Very powerful words :(  Thank you for sharing. 

 

I appreciate your feedback. It was therapeutic to write and a testimonial to my current state of mind.

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