It’s as if instead of blood, pure pride flows
Through my veins as I begin to live my
new reality,once just a dream. Grows
My happiness, and as a cause, I cry

Tears freeze. Echoes of congratulation
Quickly Turn to pangs of sudden envy
Once an ideal rose, now not. Frustration
Soon Discovers sharp thorns on that beauty

My pride is gone. For I am not worthy
Nor deserving. If I have seen success,
Others have seen the world. For I, nervy,
In contrast, I am inferior, I confess

Pricked by thorn, I still have my sweet smelling,
flawed,rose. While numerous, are still searching