i found you in a barren place

among the vastness, you stood tall and proud.

i was drawn in by your blossoming words

but was unaware of your thorns.

oh how these thorns hurt my small hands.

but i stuck around for the little things.

how your words bloomed and brought me comfort.

your hands were like the spines of

a cactus, prickling me whenever we were together.

i told you that they hurt me, but you

ignored this by grasping my hands tighter to 

my surprise and flooding my subconscious

with agony from your touch.

i tried to end this constant torment by giving 

you mittens to wear when we hold hands, but

to my dismay the barbs pierced through the knitted wool

i even went to my grandmother’s

gardening shed to borrow her thick, cotton gloves

but your spines punctured those too.

Photo Credit: Woody Minnich