Like a Rose with Thorns
When I go outside I see shades of gray.
I wonder what I have to run from next.
I see pollution killing everything around me
’cause no one cares about what happens.
The flesh trying to flush itself,
death trying to kill itself—in all this
I try to see past the shades of gray,
to focus on what I’m missing out on in life.
The thorn is spray-painted with gray.
That gray has been painted over
again and again to hide the blood
it has shed—the petals
are smooth and red but the thorns
are what protect it—
because it doesn’t want to get hurt again.
– Athena, Gunter, R and Destiny