I read in a book*
That you can only love
The unconquerable
And that is why
I will never be loved
Because I am
So very conquerable
So easy to grasp
And make your own
And that is precisely why
You never will
You want the rose surrounded
By thorns
Not the easy availability
Of a waiting hibiscus
The thrill of the scratch
Not the pleasurable fragrance
Of the sweet magnolia
Your hands bleeding and raw
Still reach for every
Dead end thorn
You will never reach
For what could be yours

*We by Yevgeny Zamyatin