I love the image of the thorns and the rose in this poem. Very well written.
you don’t like when i’m sad and so
we are both dancing
pretending there aren’t thorns in our feet.
& it’s been this way since,
blood soaked socks covered by shoes and
both of us continuing to twirl,
pretending it does not matter,
pretending our soles are clean.
when you leave i hope
you take a washing machine with you,
i hope your shoes are still white, i hope
you pull the thorns out,
the beauty of the rose
is still worth it.