She Was a Rose

“No rose without a thorn” — Arthur Schopenhauer

She started to wilt in the distresses of life,
Cowering to her many thorns.
Until one day,
She looked in the mirror and saw a rose blooming,
Untethered by the past chaos,
Past seasons,
Past belittlings.
She was beautiful and yearned for more growth
From the upcoming sunshine and rain.
She learned to become independently fierce,
Thirsting to survive
And allowing her will to live fuel her strength and brilliance.
She no longer allowed her thorns to prick her,
And she encouraged her new petals to bud with ebullience
While releasing the distressed ones into the winds,
Carrying away her burdened weights of yesteryear.
Because she was a rose.
A fragile rose,
But also a resplendent rose.