Roses have thorns.
Cracks, long as the roots of the trees, meander out with my mirror image.
Crackled, that's how I feel.
My imprint in the mirror changes as I slowly move back and forth.
The image is broken against all the bumps the glass carries.

When I was whole, my picture wasn't as interesting to look at. It didn't fascinate me.

Maybe I took it for granted.

Now I stand here trying to remember what I looked like then.

Did I ever look?
Where were the scratches hidden?

I may have seen the roses depicted but not its sharp thorns that slowly scratched the glass.

Now I've woken up, even though I've never been so numb.

The scratches can't be repaired, I have to accept living with them.

I have to accept that roses have thorns.

After all, it is believed to be a beautiful plant.🌹🌹


5 nov 2019

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