Cactus
- Chelsea Murphy
- Oct 13, 2024
- 1 min read
Very few can survive in a place where there is nothing.
In nothing, I thrive.
Empty space, dry cracked rock under my feet,
surrounded by sunlight and
trapped by flat horizons.
I bloom though I am thirsty.
In nothing, I wait.
Until the air gets cool, and the stone
keeping me company starts to shiver.
Under attack, I am a fortress.
In nothing, I defend.
My rough skin is unreachable
to bare hands.
The same spines that protect me
kill any flower I grow.
The few that survive know to surrender
to self sabotage.
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