A beautiful thorn attached to a rose
As wonderfully delicate and precious as gold
You would think frequently bruises cause conflict
Too much of a nuisance to feel joy or romance
But there is a sweet discovery of loose grips
We become closer with distance
Relentlessly growing and blooming at any speed we’re choosing
A rose
Vibrant and bold
Willing to scold if not taken too seriously
Kidding in blades of grass wishing life sometimes had never happened
Strong enough to be the captain
& guided towards life believed in
I can’t stop my hands from bleeding
And wishing things would have been different
Pain is what grows this distance
The eyes and tears have witnessed all that is needed
My soul is depleted
Weeping over these bruises
Taking all the sacrifice
I’m the one that loses
It’s proven this doesn’t hurt the most
And when things get too bad I know how to get ghost
Focus on doing the most
So I don’t notice the heartache
How much can my delicate flowers take?
Before they shake with each quake and fall away by yesterday
I analyzed how much my spirit can take
It’s done
One by one, by the power of my tongue
I create and destroy life
Whether wrong or right
A throne is to be held
Even with the sharpest thorns
You wold think the bruises cause conflict

Copyright 2017 Ta’Mesha Smith


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