I Am The Rose

• Johnny Huynh, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2010

I am a rose amongst a bush of thorns,
I am neither above the rest nor at the bottom.
At the middle I am, that’s where my soul mourns.
And my thorny body is prickled with more thorns than I have.

I started as a seed smaller than that of a mustard,
As I grew my body twisted and twirled like a ribbon,
I was entwined with other barb stems that could never be as sweet as custard.
My essence was being perforated by other thorns.

My thorns hurt no one they did not harm another rose.
Then I ask myself, why do I get harmed?
I envy that rose that is sown on asphalt for even a one dirt grain could make it pose
But for me to be happy the sinfully righteous barbs have to be happy first

The bristly stems’ buds that are born only to die
The bust of life suddenly turns into a strong will of death
How can love grow yonder and not fonder, why, why, why
I wonder why I am the Rose, The only rose, the fleur who has desperately made it.