You are a Rose

You are a rose.
Am I cliche to say it?
But I work as a gardener,
and I have learned
to know a rose.

When you see you,
you are blossomless,
all thorns -
all threats of hurt,
all fear of your own power,
all regret of the depths
of your roots.
Ashamed that you are planted in soil
someone else could use.

I see you all.
You are thorns.
You are flower.
You are leaves,
and stems
and roots.
You exist as all.

The softness of your petals,
both delicate and beautiful,
while stems and leaves
green and wild.
An existence that makes me
Breathless.

In your thorns
and in your silk
I hold you,
and you are
Beautiful.
The all of you
Is beautiful.

You've fought through winters -
they've marked you,
but still you are alive.
You are resilient.
You survive.
You are a rose.

You grow in shadows,
you grow in sun.
You stand through winter's cold,
and summer's heat.
You endure pruning.
You endure neglect.
You thrust for water
you hunger for nourishment,
and feel stronger
when you do without both.

You are not untouched by time,
but you are alive,
beautiful rose,
you are alive.