When you’re a rose that has been starved of water
Crushed by the thorns of those who are budding just as you are
And hidden from the sunlight
Any kind of sustenance will be thankfully received
Even when the water is polluted
Even when the light is artificial and burning
You grow attached wondering in desperation:
“But I am forgotten
Who else will care for me?
Who else will pay me attention, when I appear to be nothing but a weed?”
But a rose can never touch itself
Can never feel and smell itself
To take in the true splendour of its beauty
In the same way, this is how we allow ourselves to be mistreated.
Because, just like this lonely, we cannot behold our own beauty.