I’ve been called The Black Rose for many years now. The name didn’t come from brand - ing or marketing—it came from a moment. A conversation. A comparison someone made that stuck with me. They said I reminded them of smoking black roses, a phrase from Elton John’s hauntingly beautiful song Belfast. It’s a line that conjures danger, mystery, and some - thing sacred smoldering in the ruins of a bro - ken world. I’ve always loved that song—and the image. Not because I see myself as dark or destruc - tive, but because of what the black rose rep - resents: rebellion. Not the worldly kind. Not rebellion for rebellion’s sake. But something deeper. I’m an anarchist against anything that doesn’t love God and His Son, Jesus. In a world that worships self, celebrates sin, and silences truth, I write to resist. I create to push back. I speak to remember. That’s what The Black Rose means to me. It’s not about thorns—it’s about standing tall in soil no longer holy. It’s about blooming anyway. I don’t cover this site in black petals. You’ll find softness here—white, simple, feminine touches, gentle spaces. Because strength and beauty aren’t enemies. They belong together. As The Lord once said to me, “Simplicity is el - egance defined.” The Black Rose isn’t who I pretend to be. It’s who I became in a world that forgot how to love what’s true.