There are red rose petals on the bed.

But they do not symbolize romance.

They symbolize the blood that runs

Through my veins.

 

They have been singled out and ostracized,

You wanted to give me the most beautiful bouquet of roses but,

You didn’t know they still contained thorns.

These thorns… they, they have a tendency to inflict pain on the holder.

So, shall I call you, Thorn?

 

Thorn, you have ripped apart my fingers.

I thought the space in between them was enough for you.

The space used to be filled with your fingers, they intertwined.

Like our legs and our feet when we would lay down together.

Like what grown folks do when they’re old enough to understand.

Like what a person does when they want nothing but to keep them close.

 

I kept you close to me.

I held you in the palm of my hand.

I held you so tightly.

I clenched my hand so tight that blood was hitting the floor.

Thorn, my hand is experiencing contractions.

Thorn, did you know that clenching is associated with anger?

Thorn, I am not angry.

I am simply raising my voice.

Thorn, hear me out.

Thorn, hear this out.

Thorn, hear me now….

 

Listen to me….

 

There are red rose petals on the floor.

A couple feet away from the floor,

Your thorn still lies within the palm of my hand,

And as my blood trickles down, I do not clench it.

I don’t want to ruin what’s left of what once was.

Instead, I leave it to dry.

 

I can’t touch it because once I do,

My fingerprint will be embedded into something that

“Once” was.

 

So Thorn, look, there are red rose petals.

On the floor. On the bed.

In my skin.

And in my blood.

 

Thorn, smell the air, isn’t it…

Bittersweet?

Air never had texture but tonight,

It is thick, it is thick with exchanged words,

Stuck eyes analyzing how the curve of my smile is bigger now than when you were with me,

Dust has been collecting after the day we threw our feelings to the side,

The word “done” has a newfound definition.

It no longer reflects you and I,

I am going to make this word all mine,

This is “done”, this was always “done”

“I” am done.

 

But thorn, listen,

 

I am your air.

I am your oxygen.

I am your lungs that oxygen needs in order to have a purpose.

I am the forest that exists just to help you breathe better.

I am green, not with envy, but with land.

I am the land that is bigger than your land.

 

I am the ocean,

I am the clouds that sit on top of your rooftop,

I am the star you still wish upon,

I am the holy to your holy shit and holy grail,

I am the person who would have separated oceans just to be closer to you.

I am the walking apology that will make you regret the words you have been gripping in your throat.

I am the illuminating grasp of realization that you will never have me again.

I am the one, I am the one, I am the only one who liked all of you.

 

You are the thorn that my rose does not need.

You are the thorn my rose wants and cannot let go.

But like you had mistaken me for him, you had also mistaken my love for your own enjoyment.

 

Thorn, look again, there are red rose petals.

They are laid upon my heart,

They gave me purpose,

These red rose petals, they are beautiful,

But I know they came with you.

 

And so, do not wash yourself with worry.

I will soon be able to rip off the fingerprints you had laid across my chest and left forefinger.

The window to my future will no longer be blurred by the steam your breath omits whenever you call me princess.

I will plant sunflower seeds in my garden because,

I cannot let you hold me down like the roots of a plant.

I cannot let you sound like my prayers at night,

I cannot let you look like the moon in my loneliest hours,

And I cannot let you be the thorn in my rose,

Ever again.