I always thought you were a rose.
Once, I leaned in near to you
to smell your wonderful fragrance
and to admire your deep beauty.
And as I got close, I felt your prickers
pierce deep into my skin.
I always expected this
(every rose has its thorns).
But as i drew back,
I saw you’re nothing but a cactus.
And I have nothing but a bloody finger.
© Joey Who? and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.