A rose bush grew in my garden long ago,
A rose bush with colors of crystal and snow.
People came from far and wide,
To see all the colors that pooled in its leaves.

Then one day someone,
Naive and cruel,
Trampled the bush and dusted the ground .
So I put up a sign right beside my precious roses,
But I was still worried for prism colored roses.

So I put up a fence with thin copper wire,
Hoping no one would climb over,
But knowing the fence won't make a difference either.

So I built a large wall,
All around my precious roses,
Where nothing could get in,
Where they were safe from all.

If only I'd known What stone walls would do.
It kept everything out,
But roses need love and the wall kept this out too.

My roses have died,
Leaving only seeds behind,
Precious promises of an unbroken time.



You stood in the window,
The window which was in the bathroom.

You're face was milk white,
You're eyes wide and haunted,
And never meeting mine.

Back then,
You kept your head down,
You kept your arms hidden,
You kept your hood up.

To hide... What?
Pain, or maybe shame?
The physical scars, or emotional scars?
Maybe even then you tried to hide your soul.
Maybe even then you were watching your roses grow old,
And die from so little contact.

You hide in plain sight,
Laughing when someone told a joke,
Smiling widely and making eyes contact when you met someone,
Joking and playing like the rest of the gang.

You knew that laughing was you're only true sanctuary,
Because people don't notice as much when they're laughing.
So you made them laugh to stay safe,
Though sometimes it as also because it made you happy.

You learned to jump from emotion to emotion,
To juggle crowds like a jester,
To hide in the pages of books,
And to hate the person in the window.

You learned to live by dying,
Piece by piece,
Killing the happiness as much as the pain.
Leaving only a dull ache of what once was.

Then you broke,
One sat in a shower hot as the color red and shook with cold,
The walls ran away from you,
And the dam of tear broke.

The tears where cold in that hot, hot shower,
Weren't they?
Cold, and then warm when the hot water ran out,
And you were washing with ice.

I stand in the window now,
Gazing at you as you are now,
Not then,
But made new.

You're still pale,
You're eyes are still wide,
But you don't look so scared,
So broken now.

The hood is down,
And hair has grown back where it once had been missing,
You're arms are exposed,
Even though there's a rash of scars up and down both arms.

You still hide but,
But not as much as before.
You laugh and joke and play,
But it almost looks like it's real now.

<Maybe it is.>

Emotions move slower now,
Some coming, some going,
Some may never come again.
But no longer are you the fool juggling life and protection.

And you've begun to learn that life is,
Life.
That pain cannot take its place,
That while it must hurt to heal hurting isn't healing.

You broke,
And while pieces are missing that may never be replaced,
You can still be, you.
There are still enough pieces to start again.

<It's no longer... cold.>

I raise my hand,
And you mirror my movement.
I touch my fingers to yours and smile.
You smile.

We've died many times,
But our roses have finally begun to grow again.
They may be small, imperfect, and not so flashy as the cool crisp flower in the stores,
But they still smell sweet.
Like sanctuary.