I love you a little more,

when you see all of me

and my thorns that scratch,

still red and wet with hurt.

Theres ones who’ve tried to sand me down,

rub points smooth with care.

And ones who’ve tried to cover them,

lies turning stalks camelia,

as they pick me for their vases,

to enjoy petals without the sting.

I’ve had ones who tore my thorns from me,

to shame them in the light,

wearing down nee...