I removed the rose beds,
Cleared away the weeds,
I never wanted them to begin with.
There was no one to help,
It was just me,
With bare hands.
I dipped my fingers into the hardened soil,
Plucking them one by one.
The thorns cut my skin,
Blood droplets painting the soil red.
I put them in a box,
Asked the mailman to send it to those women out there…
Women who deserve those roses,
Women who want those rose beds.
I burnt the weeds to ashes.
“Alone? Didn’t it take too much time?”
They asked me…
Yes, alone.
While the sun rose and set…
Fifteen moons passed by…
I got drenched in the drizzles,
Drizzles that swept from the darkest of clouds.
But… it was worth it.
Now I can sow what I actually need,
Or I can even leave it as it is.
Isn’t it better than the rose beds,
Rose beds that could never make me happy?
Isn’t it better than the weeds that cluttered the garden?

-A Solivagant’s Shoes