Desert Rose

If I ever had a daughter like me, I’d call her my little desert rose so she knows I’ve lived it too— a brittle-stemmed rose blooming through sandstorms. Were I to have a daughter— someone soft like me... I’d tell her I’m sorry. Not for bringing her into a world where cruelty exists— but for letting her live in it when her petals part before her thorns remember to rise. If I ever had a daughter who feels and pains like me… I wish I don’t. It’s a gift to feel everything, they say. But I’ve loved it enough to know— the world punishes it. I selfishly wish she would never be like me… I want her to stay an unguarded, unbroken wild daisy.