Rose
Why must you perfect me?
Am I not already strong enough?
Do not protect my bloom?
Are my roots, not steady?
Are my thorns not aggressive?
When you look at me
You see a possession
Something you must own
Something you must tame
You manipulate me
To strive harder
Forever perfection
That is your perception
I cannot achieve
I reach and I reach
I grind and I work
I must be better
But still, you prune
Still, you cut
Still, you change my balance
Still, you bring me down
And when I blossom
Radiantly beautiful
Profoundly intelligent
Astonishingly capable
You cut me down
Place me in a vase
To stare at me
Until I wither
Broken, beat down
A discarded possession
Wow, Dorie… this one really got me. Your poetry always stirs something within me, and this piece is no exception. The rose metaphor is so spot on. That feeling of being shaped, pruned, perfected, and then admired only when we fit someone else’s idea of beauty. It’s heartbreaking and true, yet full of strength. You captured something so many of us have lived through. Absolutely gorgeous.
Dorie, this read like a rose finally stepping out of the vase and speaking her truth. There’s a quiet fire beneath every line — that mix of softness and steel people forget roses have. I love how you let her push back, how you let her be more than something trimmed and displayed. It’s tender, and a little fierce, in the loveliest way.