I am an object. A plant during the spring… I’m still growing. You feed me and keep me warm in the winter under your shed but I’m just an object.
Any progress I make you cut my stem and move me out of the way. I must be silent, and I mustn’t fight back. You will tear my thorns and I’ll have no way to protect myself.
I’m still growing. I’m learning what it means to live, I’ve learned to be silent and conform to you.
But one day I fought back, it was a mistake, a disaster, and you came in with your gloved hand and picked off my petals. One by one. Because I’m an object. I don’t matter. I’m just here to grow silently and willingly.
For if I disobey I will be cold during the winters and I will not be fed.
I’ll die and my garden will rot.