Just So You Know. in And The Rest.

Yeah, so the thing is; I’m not that girl, the Climbing Rose.

Exquisitely ethereal, the Climbing Rose wears the floral fragrance of her flawless femininity in finespun chiffon folds, a voile-veil of vulnerability, and drapes her delicate-diamond teardrops on dainty chains around her neck for all to see. Her wavering windchime emotions tinkle and twinkle, singing songs in the breeze, open to the elements and exposed to the world; she holds her hopeful heart high in forget-me-not eyes, and gives it away on a cascade of tears in every glance.

Wistful, whimsical, unfurling subtly-shimmered silk leaves to the sunlight shone from surrounding faces, she drinks the dew of their compliments to brush blush to the blooms of her velvet-petal skin. She needs someone to build herself around, the Climbing Rose; entwined around another for support, she cannot grow alone.

I am no defenseless and dutiful flower, clinging for comfort, in awe of your power; do not assume simply because of my size, I will forever gaze up at you with wide searchlight eyes. I’m all edges and corners, a tangle of brambles, just barbed-wire and thorns; my tattered heart trailed behind me on steel choke-chain reins. Deadened and desensitized, anaesthetised and paralysed, dragged through serrated surfaces inside the landmine-landscapes of my mind, it gathers grit in the gutters and dirt in the ditches; a spiny scar-tissue ball of self-injury stitches. My heart is well-trained, entirely self-contained; I do not drift with the winds of your wishes and whims.

My willpower is my ruin, my eternal internal undoing; still it remains my one redeeming grace. I need to find new beginnings, and sometimes things are lost in the process of winning (so if this is the start of an ending I wasn’t intending), don’t think this ring will anchor me, if you’re not the man I thought you’d be.

I am not a climbing rose, and you are not my trellis.