Thorns

If cunning was our birthright

Then falsity became our sport

Beings like trellises of roses

Vines, whose beauty so splendidly hid

The vicious biting of recompense

Ours alone to bare and grit

Self-designed deceptions

Jutting out of our skin

Warning all passers-by

"Careful, I'm beautiful, but you wouldn't like what's within!

For while reveling in my form, you'll only bleed from my sins!"

Perhaps the change began in the springs of our infancy

Watered with poison, stunting in its toxicity

Or cutback too much in our pruning

Trimmed with shaking hands, selfish neuroses

Left jagged with self-loathing, insecurities

But we don't have to let it dictate...

Shake the death from your bones

Shake the death from your bones

Shake the death from your bones

Shake free of the yoke, our mental oppressions

No longer frozen, the key in our possession

Swing open your cell, break off that rearview

Even as the tree grows out of the heart of stone

Our past will not dictate how tall we will grow

Will dwelling in the negatives

Ever bring about the light?

Will living in the darkness

Ever expose what's right?