Thistles
As they pull you in for an embrace,
You feel them drag the blade across your skin,
Forming yet another canyon
Deep in your flesh.
You feel the thisles begin to grow,
Thistles you realise will come to hurt others
Who pull you in for yet another embrace.
Yet you continue to embrace another,
You continue to search for that warmth,
The warmth you know will just form
More and more canyons,
More and more thistles,
That will one day hurt another
You have come to see the thistles as ugly,
You have come to hate the thistles
Because the thistles hurt others.
As I pull you in for that same embrace,
Thistles rend my flesh,
Tear up my skin,
And form such a wonderful red.
A red that will come to grow flowers.
Flowers that only we share.
Thistles.
The thistles that grow from your skin
Were not planted by you.
The thistles grown from your skin
Are something of complete beauty.
The thistles that grow from your skin
Do not cause me pain.
The thistles that grown from your skin
Will only bring us closer together.
Thistles that grow from pain
Flourish the most beautifully.
You, my dear,
Have flourished
You, my beloved,
Are pure beauty.
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