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Rose Petal

I feel trapped in a vast field of unfamiliar characters

Though I sustain through the rain and allow my thorns to be my barrier

I am rooted, but in mud, because the thunderstorm altered the diet

Where I dwindle alone on the seam, ridding the breeze of my curse

My exterior shields my hurt

Which leaves me to question God, like “what’s the purpose of my birth?”

Is it to exist among weeds?

Who feeds their greed by extracting from me like thieves,

Or to be without leaves, struggling to just live functionally,

Or be placed in a vase and forced to live uncomfortably

My demise is unpunctual, considering the deaths of my counterparts,

Judged and condemned for the scars that mark their hearts

As if I’m not a part of the race who struggles against the heavy winds

Leaving me confused, asking “are there any jackets made to protect my skin?”

But I am as rooted as I can be, as long as I live to exude vibrance

Even though I am proven to be wrong, or to be rained on like hydrants,

Or to navigate through circumstantial violence, focused on my selfish needs

While fighting to breathe and striving to succeed, I’m just staying alive

Long enough

For my roots to expand and grow

Or I could say screw it, give up, and accept the fact

That I just may be the last petal

Of a dying rose.

See all poetry for Boderic Komolafe #01989148