Thorns and Roses, part 2

This is another poem I wrote back in my university days at UCLA when I was studying poetry with various published poets. Looking back now, it is easy to see I was of the D/s mindset even though I had not yet even heard of the lifestyle!

Plastic Roses

What can this feeling be but love?                                                                                                           So perfect and original a sin,                                                                                                                  how can anyone mistake it for pain?                                                                                                  They are as closely related as roses and thorns.                                                                             Only in its one monumental moment of full-blown perfection                                                      is the flower cut, whose thorns slice the invader.                                                                              The raider, so intent on risking his blood for beauty,                                                                       finds it duplicated in form so degrading,                                                                                              the original sin was far sweeter simply a memory.

The photos are from my garden today. It was a day of mixed sun and clouds with a few scattered raindrops (not enough to count.)  You can see the thorns on my roses. I have always, always considered myself a thorny person! My daughter says I can be a downright bitch and I suppose I must acknowledge it is true, as much as those words pain me. Again, I think upon much recent self-reflection, the way I am and always have been, stems from watching my father abuse my oldest brother. Not a pleasant thing for a wee girl of 5 and up to process and handle. Back then we just went on as a military family, and didn’t speak of it. It was swept under the carpet. My Master has always wondered whether my dad did anything to me, but I know he did not. But growing up in that atmosphere made me leery of warmth and comfort except from my mother, brothers  and grandparents. I was shy and didn’t like people (still don’t.) I never even liked watching kissing or sex scenes at the movies; it made me extremely uncomfortable. With Master’s patience and love, I have grown to enjoy the sexual part of our life – perhaps more than anything else! But as I’ve said before, old habits are so hard to break. I am comfortable by myself and when Master approaches me for cuddle time I tense up. It is automatic. He thinks of me as a beautiful rose; whereas I see myself a mass of thorns.



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