Thorns

Thorns

It starts in places no one sees,

in small, unspoken histories,

where something painful learned to stay

long after it had slipped away.

In hands too gentle to hold that tight,

in borrowed warmth and borrowed light,

in all the moments we endure,

because of lies that feel so sure.

And maybe it’s not strength, but grace,

the way we ache and still embrace

the very things that leave a mark,

like a quiet bloom inside the dark.

So I asked myself:

How does it feel,

to bleed from the thorn

and still kiss the rose?

To know that it hurts you,

and still hold it close.

Reviews

[JayG]

You write well, I can't fault that. There are, though, things that had me saying, "Huh?"

• where something painful learned to stay...long after it had slipped away.

So something undefined learned to "stay?" Without knowing what it is, why it would want to stay, and what are the effects of it "staying." In this, it appears that the story in your head betrayed you by providing context for you that the reader lacks.

• In hands too gentle to hold that tight,

Umm...so the "something" isn't "someone" but it has...hands?

• the very things that leave a mark, ...like a quiet bloom inside the dark.

I really wanted to like this, but I'm lost. I don't know what the things that leave a mark are, and, the dark what?

I get the sentiment you're expressing, but not having access to your intent, I'll just say that it's not your best work.

Sorry...but you did ask. 😇