Regarding the Cactus

You show me that I must be a cactus, springing from my roots in a guarded, spikey stalk from my beginning. I will never be as the other flowers, no.

I will do my best to blossom when I must and grow into a beautiful shape so that maybe someone may show me that my thorns are beautiful too. They are my scars from the past.

I grow amongst the rocks and dust.

You give me color but utilize it as a warning, for I am not to be touched or loved by any gentle creature.

I wish to be loved and your design has sent me dependent on creatures that disregard my very existence. I am a mere decoration in your pot.

I no longer live the way I find fit. My nutrients are fed to me through injections and filtered water, which I have gone too long without.

You should be ashamed that I live this way, for it is you who should feel at fault; you made me the way I am.

I have had to grow thorns to replace the armor you stripped from me. I have become isolated and guarded because you abused my love. You took advantage of my weakness.

And so here I sit. The tactile nature of my being a warning to anyone that may try and stand too close.

You succeeded. And now I stand alone to watch my neighbors wilt beside me, untouched as I am, at the will of negligent pruners.