This winter our rosebush outside has had some beautiful roses bloom and stay on the bush for weeks. Seeing them reminded me of this poem I had written in college from a rosebud’s perspective.
I hope you enjoy it.
Rosebud
You’d think I’d be proud.
Everyone knows the rose:
I’m always wanted for weddings,
apologies, Valentines, even the tango.
But you don’t know me at all.
I’m sick of that kind of attention:
I don’t want to be clipped,
pruned, removed,
sitting in a glass vase,
dying slowly.
That’s my worst nightmare,
locked inside, or worse yet,
hung upside down till I’m a dry
crisp corpse, then put on display
yet again.
You know the real reason for my thorns?
They’ve grown to keep you away.
Why can’t you let me grow
and die in peace with my friends?
Simply satisfied
in smelling our sweet
scents mixing in the spring air.
Please find a different symbol
for love,
one that doesn’t require my death.
NovelSisters 
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