Bristly thistles
Like little missiles
Penetrating clothes to skin
Path after path
Scratch after scratch
Thornes pain fades away
Off route
Thistles deepen
Foot on earth falls
Branches flick
Narrowly missing the eye
Thistles in the thigh
Start to burn
Muscle aches
Bleeding from scratches
Walking through
Thistle patches
Step by step
Pain thrives
Drives the heart
Closer
To where I
Need to be
Never sessile
Like bristly thistles
So no matter how sharpe
Or painful
Your thistle thorns
Will not stop me
Being me.