I have always been intrigued by roses. The way the flower is so commonly associated with love and gentleness has amused me. When you think of a rose you think of calm and easy beauty. Yet the beautiful rose has thorns strong enough to puncture skin. I’ve always associated the rose with my femininity – delicacy hiding the unending strength ready to appear at any given moment.
It kills me when I am automatically disregarded as the weaker sex. So I commonly visualize myself as a rose with strong thorns. My lips always lift when I observe people knocking into stereotypes. And my smile only grows when I see an unsuspecting person admiring the weakness in someone or thing, only for them to be taken down by the thorns that come with the unstoppable rose.