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
